
:.i|'li 




Class 
Book_ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



Press of The Merrj^ War, 
Clinton, Iowa 



ANECDOTES 



OF 




BUFFALO BILL 

Which Have Never Before 
Appeared in Print. 



By His 

Boyhood Friend and "Pard' 

D. H. Wingef. 



Clinton. Iowa, June, 1912 






THIS BOOK 

IS 

TO BOYS 

FOR BOYS 

ABOUT BOYS 






/>. 



6CI.A319652 

9^ .^ . 




"BILLY" CODY. 

The Original Boy Scout. 

This cut is reproduced from a drawing 
made from an old tintype taken after he 
had made his first scout, and killed his 
first Indian. Age about 14 years. I'll tell 
you more about Billy, further on. 



To the 
BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA 

I Dedicate This Book, 

and with my compliments 

and those of Col. Cody 

To 

GENERAL BADEN POWELL 
The Organizer of the movement. 

Boys be true to his teachings, and you will 

have the esteem of all America. 

You will have clean hands 

and brave hearts. 

You will be the pride of the Original Boy 

Scout, "Buffalo Bill," and I'll be 

glad I wrote this book 

for you. 

Let me hear from you all. 

Sincerely your friend. 



jd;^i^^^^^ 




PARDS' 



D. H. WINGET 

The Writer 



COL. W. F. CODY 
BuHalo Bill . 



"PARDS" 

Facing this page is a photo of the writ- 
er and. Col. W. F. Cody, "Buffalo Bill," 
taken at Chicago in April, 1912. 

Half a hundred years have gone since 
first we knew the depth of friendship of 
"boy pards," and time has only strength- 
ened and intensified that friendship, until 
now, in the days of civilization, we can 
still look each other in the eye and read 
there that deep true friendship which can 
only be expressed by "Pard." 



WHY THIS BOOK? 

When I conceived the idea of writing 
this book, true to life as I recall the scenes 
and anecdotes, I felt that, so far as facts 
were concerned, I could do it. I have made 
no flowery flourishes which would take me 
from the narrow path of truth. I have not 
dressed the stories in rosy hues, to make a 
yellow impression, nor have I in a single 
instance departed from facts, though on 
some exact dates I may not be accurate. 
The names I give are real names, the peo- 
ple of this story are or were real people. 
Having decided, I next asked permission 
of my "Pard," which, with the answer is 
reproduced by "Two Letters" following 
this. 



TWO LETTERS— NO. 1, REQUEST. 

Clmton, Iowa, Oct. 17, 1911. 
To Col. W. F. Cody. 

My dear Col: — 

I have conceived the idea of writing a 
book, "Anecdotes of Buffalo Bill which 
have never appeared in print." I believe 
as well as anyone now living- besides your- 
self, I am fitted to write this. It shall tell 
of our boyhood days, of days which we 
passed in the west, when the west was 
young; of the days when history was being 
made at the point of the pistol, and not in- 
frequently at the end of a rope. Of the 
days of "bad men" and bad Indians. Many 
of the little stories you will recall and 
many of them will have been forgotten, but 
you'll recall them. 

I shall not go into this without your per- 
mission, and to be honest with you I shall 
tell you now that our boyish pranks shall 
come to the foreground, no matter if they 
do hit us close. We were no worse than 
other boys and to tell the truth, we were no 
better. 

Can you stand it? 

Your boyhood pard, 
b. H. Winget. 



11 



TWO LETTERS— NO. 2, PERMISSION. 



BUFFALO BILL'S PAWNEE BILL'S 

and 

WILD WEST FAR EAST 

Euroute. 

Northfolk, Va.. Oct. 30, 1911. 
D. H. Winget, 
My Dear Old Pard:— 

You say you are going to write a book 
of "Anecdotes of Buffalo Bill which have 
never appeared in print." 

You have my full permission. Stick to 
facts, write history, for in this particular 
line I know of no one more able to do it 
than yourself. 

Of course it may hit hard in places, but 
we were no better than other boys. If you 
can stand it, I can, so fly at it. 

And I wish you unbounded success, 
Your friend and pard, 
W. F. Cody, 

"Buffalo Bill." 



12 



HASHED HISTORY. 

Not Dry Picking with Dates, Miles and Stilted 
Historical Dove tailing. — Just a Bunch of 
Anecdotes of Buffalo Bill Which Have Never 
Appeared in Print. — Recollections of "Billy- 
Cody," the Boy, by his Boyhood "Pard." — 
Brief Notes of His Doings as Scout, Indian 
Fighter, Pony Express Rider.— In Short, Just 
Tales of Buffalo Bill from Boyhood To Now, 
As I Recall Them. 

This book has not to do with Indians en- 
tirely. It is not written to take place in 
the line of those yellowback blood-and- 
thunder stories of the prairies, written by 
people who were never west of the Ohio 
line or north of Kokomo, Indiana. It is in- 
tended to be hashed history, if so I may 
term it.^ It does not take up the story and 
follow day by day the doings of Buffalo 
Bill. That would be too much like the 
route card or itinerary of his Wild West 
show. 

This is just a bunch of anecdotes of the 



13 



boy and man, as they recur to me, backed 
by no notes or data save memory. It is 
not a history of the King of Scouts as a 
scout, though of this line of brave men, he 
was the bravest. It is not a tale of the 
Pony Express, though he was one of its 
fu'st riders. It is not a story of the man 
as a show man, though he has been seen in 
the saddle with his peerless historical pa- 
geant by more people than any other man 
living or dead in history. 

No, all this has been printed and re- 
printed in the public press, in magazines, 
in books, and is to many an old story. 

It has been left to me, his boyhood chum 
and "pard," to gather up the threads here 
and there which have been missed by the 
historians and story writers, because they 
did not know, and to weave them into the 
fabric of his life, using names as I can re- 
member them, and dates where I am sure 
of them, but keeping so close to actual his- 
tory that both the writer and the one writ- 
ten, of can sit on a bible and make affida- 
vit to the whole. And this is what we 
might call ''patchwork" history. 

T have heard people say, speaking of 
Buffalo Bill that he was never on the plains 



14 



never a scout, never saw an Indian, never 
kiUed an Indian, and an editor away out 
in Cheyenne, where to my certain knowl- 
edge Cody killed two Indians, writes in his 
"sage brush" philosophy that Buffalo Bill 
never saw a hostile Indian in his life, when 
there is at least two people living in that 
city, James Currie and Ed. Estes, who were 
with us when Cody killed two Indians, and 
rescued a man named Hillyard Cooper from 
them after they had killed his wife before 
his eyes, the man securely bound to the 
wheel of his "moving" wagon. 



15 



BUFFALO BILL'S FACE. 

Probably Known by More People Than Any 
Other Man of the Century, Living or Dead. — 
A Letter Bearing His Picture Only Finds 
Him in London, England. — Cody, as Boy and 
Man, Scout and Guide. — A Maker of History. 
Known the World Around. — The Wild West 
and Western, Boys. — "Chuckaway" and Tea 
Kettles. — Sugar and Ponies. 

I will venture to say that Buffalo Bill 
is the best known man in the United Statea 
if not in the world. 

I say this because I believe I can prove 
it. Some years ago I mailed a letter to 
him from Clinton, Iowa, and it reached 
him in London, England, bearing for super- 
scription only his picture and the wore 
"England" on the envelope, and last year 
(1911) j I sent many letters to him in this 
country addressed the same way. 

As I say, many people know him as 



16 



Buffalo Bill, the showman, and the Chief 
of Scouts of the U. S. 

Still a large number knoAV him as a 
guide and buffalo hunter. 

But I am not afraid of contradiction 
when I say there is but a handful who 
know him as "Billy Cody," the school boy. 

Well, I am of that handful, I know him 
as a boy — a school boy, and this is my ex- 
cuse for writing this, the unvarnished story 
of his early life, bringing it down as late 
as I may, with little sketches which I have 
never seen in print, and telling as truth- 
ful as a mirror, his and our many pranks 
pleasant and otherwise, as boys of the 
wild west. 

It was the wild west then, away back 
in the fifties. True we were boys, not 
young men. In this enlightened age, where 
our language is so plentifully sprinkled 
with slang, we would be called kids. 

And we were kids, imbued with all the 
ginger and .steam of the son of a goat ; 
could not stand still a minute, something 
doing all the time; our every day being 
hallcw e'en, and our nights spent laying 
out the program for the coming morn. 

Not bad kids, mind you, no better — no 



17 



worse than others — just boys bubbling over 
with health, good bounding red blood, and 
on the best of terms with all the world. 

If in these sketches there may be some 
things which do not coincide with your 
ideas of what the boy of to-day should be, 
pass it over, for those pranks are but atoms 
of what seems to me ancient history. 

They tell of days when the West was 
young; of the days before the noble red 
man was the fat, easy going old grunter 
he is to-day; of the days when the friendly 
tribes would come to town and shoot with 
their arrows a 5-cent piece put up for a 
target; when your pet dog or eat looked to 
the friendly Indian only as a good square 
meal, and they were made the victims of 
the bow and arrow; of the days when the 
friendly buck or squaw would enter your 
home without knocking and ask for 
"chuekaway," which being interpreted 
means grub ; and when these same bucks 
or squaAvs could be made to take a swift 
hike when they saw your mother reach on 
the stove for the tea kettle. They bore no 
malice. They did not stop to reason or 
explain, nor did they look around — they 
vanished. 



Those were the days when a cup of dark 
brown sugar would buy an Indian pony 
from the tribe, and as a consequence all 
us boys had our own horses, and as a fur- 
ther consequence most of our games were 
played on horseback. It was no uncom- 
mon thing away back "then" to see a 
whole herd of school boys' ponies grazing 
on the play ground, or standing patiently 
waiting the appearance of their young 
masters and mistresses, for girls had their 
ponies, too. 

Billy was a splendid rider and had al- 
ways a splendid mount. His ponies were 
all trained to come at his call, and there 
were few very few other persons who 
could approach them. 



19 



BOY SCOUTS. 

Just a Word With Our Boys. — What is Neces- 
sary To Make a Good Clean Boy Scout. — A 
Clean Pure Character. — Bravery, Truth, Chiv- 
alry. — A Word To Parents of "Our Boys." 
— How To Train Them. — Appeal To Their 
Honor, Counsel With Them, Believe in 
Them, Rely Upon Them. 

There are thousands of Boy Scouts all 
over the country. Has it ever occurred to 
you that the best known scout in the v»'orld 
is Buffalo Bill ? It is the spirit of the scout 
nature which makes this organization so 
fascinating. Take the great Scout Cody 
for your example. First be sure you are 
right, then go ahead. 

In the first place be brave, cultivate 
that bravery which is born in every boy. 

Dare to do right, to be right. Then 
have the courage of your convictions, and 
fight for them. 

Let us take the early life of the great 



20 



Scout. His tastes were not low. His brav- 
ery as a boy was never questioned. He was 
open and above board in all his actions. 

He was not two-faced. 

He would not lie. 

He made a confidante of hiiK^ father, 
Who was an early pioner»of Iowa. The two 
were "pards." His noble mother had con- 
fidence in her boy because she knew he 
was true. 

He was the champion of the weak. In 
short he was a manly boy. All these things 
it takes to make a true Boy Scout. 

Are you eligible, my boy, to follow the 
great scout i Think it over. Be on good 
terms with your father be his "pard." 

Honor your little mother. Be her pride 
and her champion. 

Dare to do right. 

Dare to be true. 

And you will have in you all that is 
necessary for a Boy Scout. 

To The Parents: 

Father, invite the confidence of your 
boy. Encourage him to be brave and true. 
Take him in counsel with you. Meet him 
on the level. Appeal to his honor in all 
things. Cultivate his pride. A good heart 



21 



to heart talk is Avortli more than a wagon 
load of bh^ch switches. He is a coming man. 
Meet him as such. It depends a whole lot 
upon what kind of a man he will make, 
whether it be one who will look the world 
in the face with steadfast eye, or an apol- 
ogetic whimpering thing subservient to ev- 
ery one. Make him a leader. There will 
be plenty of those who follow and are driv- 
en like cattle. 

Mothers, cultivate in your boy a pride; 
make him feel that he is your protector, 
your champion. Make him feel that he is 
the one you look to, that he has your wel» 
fare in his keeping. If he needs correction, 
put it in such form that it appeals to his 
honor ; make him feel that he is responsible, 
and by all means take a pride in praising 
him when it is deserved. 

Thus you will give him confidence and 
pride, and you will have developed a true 
blue Boy Scout with all the attributes of 
the King of Scouts. 



22 



THE BOY AVENGER. 

Stabbing of Billy's Father.— I'll Kill That Man." 
— A Border Riot and a Border Ruffian Laid 
Low. — His Father Avenged. — Billy's Knows 
and I Know.— What's That Knife Worth?— Ask 
Buffalo Bill. 

It was way back in the border ruffian 
times in Kansas, Just about the time Kan- 
sas territory was knocking at the doors 
to be admitted to statehood, and the feel- 
ing ran very high and bitter between those 
who wished her to be a free state and those 
who wanted a slave state. Buffalo Bill's 
father Isaac Cody was a good talker, and 
a man who had the courage of his convic- 
tions. Mass meetings were held among the 
settlers which were largely attended by 
Missourians all of whom clammored for 
slavery. At one of those meetings Isaac 
Cody was called upon to speak. His speech 
was a ringing free state talk and it seem- 



23 



ed that he drove every argument home. 
He lived before his time. He looked far, 
far into the future and in that ringing 
speech prophesied what in after years Abra- 
ham Lincoln brought to pass. This was too 
much for the Missourians, and one of them 
a big burly ruffian mounted the box upon 
which Mr. Cody stood and stabbed him 
twice with a huge bowie knife. Little Billy 
with his friend and companion were both 
in tears, but Billy straightened up, and 
seemed to grow to a man, as he said, "I'll 
never lose track of that man until I kill 
him." It was not his good fortune to get 
him at once, but some time afterward, the 
man turned out to be the leader of one of 
the most desperate gangs of thieves and 
ruffians that ever infested the Kansas bor- 
der They were known as Border Ruffians, 
and not a few pitched battles were the re- 
sult of their forays on the Kansas border. 
It was after one of these ''riots" that the 
killed and wounded were gathered up, and, 
as we looked over the men laid out in a 
row, the ruffian lay there with his face up- 
ward, the sun shining in it, showing, be- 
tween the eyes, a bullet hole. 

"Didn't I tell you I would," said Billy, 



24 



and boys as we were we simply shook hands 
and from his side I pulled Billy's bowie 
knife where it had been driven to the hilt. 
His father was avenged. 

Thus a boy had rid the border of one of 
its most dangerous characters, and the 
people breathed easier. 

This, I believe, is the first time this ever 
appeared in print, and to this day I believe 
there are but two people who know who 
killed "Weston Red." 

Billy knows and I know. 

If you wish to know what that knife is 
worth, try to buy it from Buffalo Bill. 



25 



THE ORIGINAL BOY SCOUT. 

His First Scouting Trip. — He Spies on an In- 
dian Camp in War Paint and brings the News: 
To the Fort.— A Company of U. S. Troops Sent 
out with Billy as Guide. — His Bravery Recog- 
nized by the Government. — A Handsome Pres- 
ent. — A Young Hero, 

The grand army of Boy Scouts is grad- 
ually surrounding the civilized world and 
while not directly connected with this army, 
Buffalo Bill may safely be said to have 
been the first, or original Boy Scout. 

At the tender age of 15 or 16 years he 
went on his first scout. 

Rumors were afloat of a band of Indians 
on the war path, and "Billy Cody," mount- 
ed his pony to find out the truth of the 
matter. He rode half the night, and was 
rewarded in his search by finding a large 
body of Cherokees, and as he noted their 
movements he saw that they were in a 



26 



state of unrest, and that preparations were 
being made for something unusual. 

After satisfying himself that all was not 
right, he turned his faithful "Billy" pony 
toward home, and as day was breaking, 
rode into Fort Leavenworth and reported 
the facts. 

About that time the small trains or par- 
ties of movers, or settlers, were preparing 
to make the trip to the far west, and al- 
ready several had started. On the morn- 
ing he rode in, a government supply train 
was getting ready to move, and Billy's 
news, caused the commander to send out a 
troop of cavalry instead. With them Billy 
rode as guide, and scout— his first trip as 
a scout. 

Just at the point designated by him 
about two hundred Cherokees were found, 
in full war paint, and stripped for battle, 
massacre and robbery. At first sight of 
the troop, they mounted their horses, and, 
firing a few parting shots dashed away, 
followed by the cavalry with Billy well to 
the front. On this raid, eight ablebodied 
bucks were sent to the happy hunting 
grounds, 

Billy was brought before the Com- 



27 



mander and thanked most heartily, and, as 
a further testimonial of the government's 
recognition of his service, was presented 
with a fine rangey horse, saddle and bridle, 
a pair of "navy" revolvers and a cavalry 
carbine. 

I tell you Billy was proud of this, and 
when it became known Billy was quite a 
hero, and I being his chum was just as 
proud as he. 

The supply train moved with an escort 
of Uncle Sam's cavalry, and many of the 
westward ho, settlers dropped in behind 
and traveled with this strong escort of 
soldiers. 

After this all trains were sent out with 
a military guard, and a scout or guide. 
Thus, I claim that "Billy" Cody was the 
original Boy Scout. 

Though years have passed since scouts 
were useful on our border, the thrilling life, 
the tales of dangers and bravery, have held 
a fascination for the youth of all countries, 
and no more enticing name could be found 
around which to gather our boys than that 
of "Scout." 

The original "Boy Scout" is no longer 
a boy, that is to say, in years, but his big 



28 



boyish heart* is still Avarm for the boys. He 
loves the good clean American boy, such as 
are enrolled in the Boy Scout movement, 
and nothing pleases him so well as to sit 
alone with a bunch of "Our Boys" and 
hold a "pow-wow," as he terms it. 

I have heard the old long-haired scout 
talk with boys, and if his advice as given 
to them were accepted by every boy, Amer- 
ica would boast a race of "Boy Scouts" 
noted for their clean character, their brav- 
ery, their chivalry. They would be boys 
and young men who would look you fear- 
lessly in the eye and tell the truth. They 
would be brave, in that they would know 
they v/ere right and would fight for it. 
They would honor and revere their coun- 
try's flag and as I have often seen this 
big "Boy Scout" do, would take off their 
hat to their country's emblem, and should 
the time come when it needed defenders, 
they would be in the first rank and on the 
firing line, ready, if need be, to lay down 
their lives for its honor. 

That is the stuff good American scouts 
are made of. "They are our boys," said 
Col. Cody "who will be our men, our 
rulers, our generals, our protectors." 



29 



In talking to a bunch of boys one day, 
the Colonel said : 

"Boys, keep your hands clean. Don t 
do any dirty tricks of which you will be 
ashamed. Don't be afraid to tell the truth. 
Be brave enough to speak it, even if it 
goes against you. True bravery never 
hides behind a lie. That is the coward's 
breast woriis. Keep your muscles haru, 
get out in the air, waiK, ride, take exercise. 
Keep up with your stuuies, give your brain 
the same exercise you do your legs and 
arms. A cultvated and well balanced brain 
is one of the things every great general 
must have, whether it be on the battle 
field or in the great fight with the world 
as captains of industry." 

Salute your fathers as your superior 
oii-icers, make them respect you. Show 
Ihem that you are coming men. Take them 
in your counsel, meet them on the level, 
and you will find them the nicest lot of 
fellows you ever met. A true soldier and 
scout holds the name of woman in rever- 
ence. Then be a soldier true and a scout. 
Show your mother and your sister that you 
are their protector, and that they may rely 
upon you. Don't get out of patience. Take 



30 



steps for them, help them whenever you 
can relieve them of burden. It is not the 
mark of a softy or a goody-goody boy. It 
is the insigna of bravery of chivalry and 
the proud mark of a true boy scout of the 
later day. The same spirit which led the 
scout of the plains to fight the Indians, 
and protect the weak, stands in these days 
of civilization between the weak — our 
mothers, our sisters and their burdens." 

"I tell you, boys, if I was a boy to-day, 
I would join the Boy Scouts, and make it 
my pride to keep the name pure, and its 
banner unstained." 

Even while still a boy, "Billy" Cody 
formed a company of "scouts" to look out 
for the advance guard of border ruffians 
and report whenever any of them crossed 
the river from Missouri, and more than one 
preconcerted raid was broke up by "Billy 
Cody's Boys." Those were the days when 
the Missourians, or pro-slavery people were 
looked upon as dangerous, and were dan- 
gerous, for the gang embraced the roughs, 
outlaws and the scum of humanity, men 
who were lawless, and held life cheaply. 
They sought the lives not only of Isaac 
Cody, but of several other tried and true 



31 



pronounced men in favor of a Free State 
for Kansas. If a handfull of these resolute 
men could be put out of the way it would 
be clear sailing for those in favor of slav- 
ery. 

This organization was formed and led 
by "Billy Cody," and he never slept. It 
did seem that he was constantly on the job. 
Our good and close chum, Harry Hathway, 
was another we could count on. Ed. House, 
Henry Brown, Jimmie Mann, Pat Malone, 
Ed Hastings and little Jimmie Tool, were 
others, while some of Kansas girls were 
alert, and not infrequently gave pointers. 
Among those girls, true as steel, we recall, 
May Cody, Helen Cody, Laura Hughes, 
Flora Rush, Abbie Perkins, Clara Weibling, 
Mamie Sanders, and Carrie Helling. They 
were true blue, and as I look at it now 
they should have sailed under the name of 
"Girl Scouts." They were all girls of 
true western metal, girls to whom the 
dangers of the border were well known and 
for whom they had no terrors. God bless 
our girl scouts wherever they may be. 



32 



Our Indian- Chun:.— How Indian-^ ••Apivar.''- 
Indian Boy. — A RoUL-h and Tuuiblo Tiil 
A Bully Horsewhipped. — An Indi-: 
tude.— We Learn Woodcraft and 
Language. — An Indian 'Standpatter. — H:s 
skih- Friend • Remember.9.-i-F;iendshi.p^ 



Did you ever hear of that trait, or wliat- 
ever you call it, which is. peculiar totlie 
Indians as to no other race, that of ;;' ap- 
pearing?" . .. ' 

Let me explain. You are out in the tim- 
ber all alone, you think, and you turn your 
head and an Indian is beside you standing 
quietly looking at you. • , .- ■ 

I cannot explain it, and though J- haye 
heard the same ciuestion asked, I have.nev'er 
heard it explained. . I -h^v_e> asked it , often 
of my Indian friends and I had many, but 
they did not -seem to know what I meant, 
or why it w^as so .extraordina,ry; So i, don't 



2 



believe they know themselves. I guess its 
born in them — a part of their make-up, just 
the same as a negro is born with an aroma 
all his own. Pie doe.sn't notice it. He 
doesn't explain it. 

But that "appearing" was only a pass- 
ing thought brought about by a wave of 
memory regarding our friend Long-Bow. 

Long-Bow was an Indian boy about our 
own age, and often joined with us. By 
"us'' I do not mean our school boy crowd, 
but just Billy and I. It seemed that we 
were happier when astride our ponies. We 
took long rides, and builded air castles, 
whose foundations rested on the boundless 
prairies of the far west we had heard so 
much about. We wanted to grow up so that 
we could join the ever westward moving, 
throngs to the land of gold. 

On these rides, many times Long Bow 
was our companion. He taught us wood- 
craft. He taught us to follow a trail or 
how to blind our own trail. He taught us 
his language and also the almost universal 
sign language of the red man. 

Long Bow was what we would call in 
this generation a "stand patter." He was 
true as steel, and a friend we could trust 



34 



more implicitly than many of those in whose 
veins runs the blood of the white man. 

They say an Indian never forgets an in- 
jury. True indeed, but let uie add. he never 
forgets a kindness or proves ungrateful to 
a friend. 

This was taught me by Long Boav \\lio 
proved the line I have added. 

One day in a beautiful Kansas autumn, 
Billy and I were alone in the big timber 
just west of Leavenworth. It was wild and 
deep, that timber. It had not given up to 
the march of civilization, nor cast aside its 
truly untamed mantle. Squirrels chased 
each other over the trees, the gray timber 
wolf had its home in that forest, and the 
wild eat and catamount were at home in 
the giant trees or skulking along in the un- 
der brush. It was wild western nature. 

Our ponies were grazing near us, and 
we were lying on our backs building air 
castles, talking of what we would do vvhen 
we were a little older, when 

Long Bow "appeared." 

We both saw him at once, as he stood 
there like a statue. 

"How," said he. 

"How," said we. 



Then he came and sat with us. He had 
Sx story to tell of some of the boys in town. 
They had misused him, and made him feel 
that he was but an Indian. They in a 
crowd had fallen upon him and given him a 
licking. In short they had horsewhipped 
him. 

Long Bow, half-civilized Indian boy, 
though he was, felt the indignity and came 
to us his friends to tell us. How he knew 
where to find us I do not know. He simply 
"appeared," and that was all. 

In his short crisp language, helped out 
and emphsi/ied by signs, he told us of his 
battle with the town boys, and how, like 
cowards, they over powered him and thrash- 
ed him with their quirts.* He told us who 
they were, and asked us to help him, 

''I shall kill Sardell," he said, "and that 
big Tom Watson." 

Billy told him we would help him, and 
we all shook hands, just like grown-ups, 
both white and Indian, 

Tom Watson was one of a gang Avhich 
the school boys did not like. They did not 

* — Quirt, an Indian riding wliip of braided leath- 
er or raw hide, • 



36 



go to school, and simply loafed around the 
levee picking quarrels Avith the school boys 
and lamming the tar out of them if thc}^ 
caught one or two alone. 

It was some weeks after this when Billy 
and this Tom Watson had a mixup. I don't 
remember who started it, l)ut Billy gave 
him all he could stand. There were enough 
of Billy's crowd to see fair play and to 
keep off Tom's gang if they should inter- 
fere. It was a struggle. They were well 
matched though while Watson had the ad- 
vantage of weight Billy could get all arounc 
him and make it hot for him. Not fists 
alone were used but the ever present quirt 
was in the hands of each. 

Long Bow was there. He stood ready 
to spring in, but we held him back, well 
knowing that fair play was all that was 
necessary. During a pause in the hostilities 
Billy told him what a coward he was with 
his gang to jump Long Bow, and after a 
short wordy combat, as boys will indulge 
in they went at it again, the quirts cracked, 
fists found noses and the battle was on 
again. 

Billy licked him, good and plenty, and 
then, after he let liiin up, after having 



knocked him down, he told him to apologize 
to Long Bow. 

This he refused to do, and Billy went 
after him with the lash end of his quirt 
and gave him a real horsewhipping, and 
finally made him take off his hat to the 
Indian boy. 

That day's work meant bad blood be- 
tween the school gang and the "rowdies," 
as we called them, and we took pains when 
we went down to the levee, to always go 
in crowds of three or four or a dozen. 

Long Bow was our friend after that. He 
simply worshipped Billy and more than ever 
we had him for our companion. 

Several years after that, when Billy had 
taken to the plains, he was scouting ahead 
of a train of prairie schooners, looking *or 
traces of hostile Indians. Then the plains 
were full of them. 

it was growing dusk, and Billy, riding 
alone far ahead of the train, came down 
to the bed of a creek to water his horse 
and himself. It was a lonely spot, he told 
me, thick willow under growth on one side 
and dense grove of schumac on the other. 
His horse had got its fill of water and Billy 



38 



who had laid down on his belly to get his 
drink, arose to find an Indian in war paint 
at his side. 

"I tell you pard," says Billy, "I felt 
cold all over, I felt it was all up with me 
for the Indian had the drop on me and he 
had a splendid gun, besdes his long knife 
in his belt." 

"How, Billy," said the Indian. 

"How, Long Bow," said Billy who re- 
cognized him at once, though the Indian 
boy had grown to a stalwart buck, fine of 
form, lithe and sinewy as a wrestler — a 
typical savage in all the glory of his hid- 
eous war paint. 

He took the bridle of Billy's horse and 
led it into the stream and up the creek to 
a stony shore, where he stopped. 

"Billy go back to wagons," said Long 
Bow. Heap Indians over rise all on war 
path," and he started out with Billy, guid- 
ing him, covering his trail and keeping with 
him through the tortuous windings of the 
western stream until he reached a point 
nearest the train. 

By this time it was night, and as the 
stars were out — a perfect starry night with- 
out a moon, the Indian pointed to the 



39 



North star, then facing it directed Billy to 
his train, some eight or ten miles to the 
north-east. He told him to hold his train 
in camp for two sleeps and then to take his 
regular trail, and his tribe would be far to 
the south. 

The redskin friend in his war paint 
stood pat. 

Billy walked for a distance leading his 
horse, and as he frequently looked behind 
he saw his friend standing watching him, 
until the darkness swallowed him up. 

It afterards transpired that if Billy 
and his train had fallen into the hands of 
that band of Indians, there would not one 
have lived to tell the tale. 

Billy rode into camp late at night and 
gave orders that not a move should be 
made for two days though he did not tell 
why. But it saved the train. 



40 



"KOUNDING THE ELDER." 

A\Doggcn Mean Trick. — Our Little Churcti. — 

■ Our Preacher. — The "Elder." — The Bad Boys. 

— The Howling Pack of Hounds. — A Turmoil 

in the Sanctuary. — Anxious Moments. — Vve 

Cross Our Hearts.— 'i he "Clan." 

In Leavenworth, Kansas, many years 
ago, the Presbyterian church stood between 
Seneca and Osage streets. It was a little 
frame building with two front doors. Lead- 
ing from each door down to the pulpit was 
an aisle with seats holding about eight peo- 
ple on the north and south sides, and long 
seats holding about double the number in 
the center. It was so arranged that we 
could go in one door do^vn the aisle and 
passing the pulpit, out the other door. So 
much for the lay of the land. 

Our preacher was Mr. A. W. Pitzer, now 
of "Washington, D. C, a southern man who 
at the beginning of the civil war resigned 
and cast his fortunes with his home land 



41 



He was a young man, beloved by all and 
especially by the boys with whom he was 
a great favorite. Now you have the church 
the pulpit, pew and preacher, 

I suppose in every church there is some 
vinegar faced old elder who always finds 
fault with the boys, and is a constant men- 
ace to their exuberent spirits. 

Our church had one. His name was Cur- 
rie, "Old Currie" we called him, and he 
made us feel that he owned the church, 
that we must clean our feet, and tip-toe 
down the aisle or he would "call us" be- 
fore the congregation, and more than once 
he would lead us out and make us clean 
our feet. 

Now we have the church and the elder. 
The lay of the land and so forth. Now for 
the bad boys: 

There were in our crowd about six or 
seven boys, and this bunch resolved itself 
down to three or four when any particular- 
ly "devilish" scheme was on foot. That 
was a quartette of quiet ones, who neve^ 
told. 

About a half block from the church 
lived a man who owned a pack of sixteen 
hounds. 



42 



We four, Billy Cody, Will AVinget, Ed. 
House and the writer were sitting as boys 
will on the sunnyside of the Terry stage 
barn, talking, and airing our grievances as 
boys will, and the talk turned to "Old 
Currie." This conference led to putting up 
a job on " Old Currie. ' ' 

Billy outlined a plan whereby we could 
get even with the old' iellow. 

This was Saturday afternoon, and we 
knew that "Old Currie" was going to give 
a talk at the church the following Sunday 
morning, so it was proposed among us, that 
we do something. 

Now right here, I want to go on record 
as not saying that Billy Cody planned this 
freak, because we all joined hands and 
crossed our hearts to never tell. But here 's 
what we did: 

We got a scent bag early in the morn- 
ing, and from the dog kennel we trailed it 
straight to the church. Ed got in a win- 
dow and opened the doors. Through the 
-, north door, we dragged the scent bag, down 
the aisle, up the pulpit steps on one side 
and down the other through the south aisle 
and out the south door, through the back 
yard of Dr. Morris residence and out the 



43 



front gate and back to the home kennel. 

All was well, but we threw out our line 
of scouts to be sure that Currie was there 
and not the preacher. 

Things came our way. The elder in his 
pompous way marched up the aisle, put his 
Sunday "plug" hat on the table and as- 
cended the pulpit to "address the congre- 
gation." He gave out the hymn, just like 
a preacher, prayed like a lost calf and fin- 
ally settled down to preach. 

Word was quickly passed and the hounds 
were released and took up the scent. Such 
music as those hounds did make. They all 
had the deep, hollow baritone voice pecul- 
iar to their breed and struck up the chorus 
as the solid pack followed the scent, down 
Potawatomie street, turning on Sixth street 
down through the church yard, yelping, 
howling, baying, rushing, into the church 
door, doA\Ti the aisle up over the pulpit, 
knocking down the plug hat and the contri- 
bution bags on their long sticks, tripping 
"Old Currie," as they rushed between his 
legs, overturning and breaking the glass 
water pitcher, spilling the water, out the 
south aisle and door, through Dr. Morris' 
yard and, as the surveyor would put it. 



44 



''back to the place of beginning." However 
it is oul}^ by hearsay that I know what 
took place in the church, but there was 
something doing. Women screamed and 
stood up on the seats, men were terrorized. 
Currie was seared "stiff," and well doused 
with water, while the crowd, trying to get 
out of the way of the dogs, tramped his 
plug hat into a shapeless mass. My father 
told me if one of his boys was connected 
with that scrape he would tan the hide off 
him. And he would, for I happen to know 
from experience. 

The papers were full of it. I say papers 
but there was but one paper at that time. 
It was the Leavenworth Herald, run by a 
man named Saterlee, who was afterwards 
shot and killed by the late Col. D. R. An- 
thony. Rewards were offered for the per- 
petrators, but they were never discovered. 

We boys were scared stiff. We met at 
our rendezvous — behind the barn, and cross- 
ed our hearts never to reveal our secret. 
It was about this time that the pro-sia very 
ruffians from Missouri were making raids 
across the border, and it was finally laid 
at their door. 

We did not as kids realize what we 



45 



were doing or the enormity of the offense, 
but when it became tlie talk of the town, 
we walked the earth with fear and trem- 
bling, even fearing lest we talk in our sleep 
and give ourselves away. 

That was a great crowd of boys. I kept 
track of them long enough to know that 
one became a gambler and was shot on a 
steamboat. Another, a preacher, and at 
last accounts was a bishop. Still another 
drifted out onto the plains as a wagon mas- 
ter. Another, my brother, is at Cupple's 
station, St, Louis. The next is the best 
known man in the world, and from Billy 
Cody has become the world known Buffalo 
Bill, while the last is the writer, located in 
Clinton, Iowa, running a newspaper. And 
now, the spirit moves me to write a long 
letter of confession to our beloved pastor, 
Mr. Pitzer, and tell him how it happened. 



46 



GRAVE ROBBERS. 

A Ghost Indeed.— We All Saw It.— We Heard 
It Groan.— It was all White and Ten Feet 
Tall.— The Open Grave.— That Creepy Feel- 
ing. — Billy's Joke. 

Truth to tell, the incident I am about 
to rela^te scared me so that 1 did not re- 
member whether "Billy Cody" was with 
us tliat night or not, but lie was usually 
in on any excitement, and our crowd was 
never complete or at its best without him, 
AVell,, I'll not "peach" on him anyhow. 

A pauper had died and was buried. His 
case had been a puzzle to the doctors. 

An old doctor v^'ho wished to know 
more of the case, wanted the body. He 
came to one of our crowd — "Hen" Brown 
and offered him twenty dollars if he would 
get the body. 

At the gathering of the "clan," that 
moonlight evening, "Hen" told us all 



47 



about it, and where we would find the 
grave. 

Here was a lark. 

The boys were all up and ready for a 
"creepy" adventure, so, armed with spades 
a pick and other garden tools, we started 
for Pilot Knob, the burying ground. 

This was not the cemetery of to-day by 
any means. It was the table land at the 
top of a knob or huge hill — really a cross 
between a hill and a mountain. On one 
side to the north, the ascent was gradual 
and winding and here the funerals 
approached the summit. On the east the 
descent while not absolutely perpendicular 
was a very steep incline. The sides and 
top of the knob were covered with scrub 
oak bushes, with here and there a tree — 
the kind with the glossy, Avhispering leaves. 

Ed, House and the old doctor — Dr. 
Abeeie with a one horse spring wagon 
drove around the road, and the rest of us 
cut across, and up the steep side of the 
knob. We soon gained the top and found 
the newly made grave. We started to dig. 

But where was Cody? 

* * *:= # =• \- * 

The moon came out from behind an oc- 

48 



casional cloud, only to be veiled by another. 
The wind whistled a wild wierd tune 
through the tree tops and bushes, causing 
them to assist our imagination in forming 
lisping ghosts and waving phantoms as 
their leaves showed bright in the moon- 
light like eyes from a skulking ghost or 
spirit. 

Pretty soon we began to get nervous. 
We were only boys, just about the age 
when ghost stories give you a creepy feel- 
ing, and the cold little devils chase them- 
selves up and down your spine. 

"What's that?" i-aid one. 

"What is it?" said another. 

"I saw something white over behind 
that bush," said George Pierce, 

And we all felt chilly. 

Suddenly we heard a low moaning from 
the bushes just beyond the grave. It was 
low and plaintive at first, but soon it took 
on the unmistakeable moan. 

All work stopped. The tAvo boys scur- 
ried up out of the grave, and stood with 
us. The moan again, and as we looked in 
its direction a ghostly figure all in white 
rose slowly up, up, till it stood as we 
thought ten feet hia-h. It was a ghost. No, 



49 



you needn't tell me there are no ghosts — 
I saw one, I heard it groan. A panic 
seized us, and with one accord we started 
down the steep side of Pilot Knob, leav- 
ing all our tools behind, and truth to tell, 
they may be there yet, for though I have 
often been up at the old burying ground, 
I have never had the courage to go near 
the old pauper's grave. 

As I look back even now when fifty 
years have passed without a ghost, I feel 
a shudder and a cold clamy sensation, as 
I recall that ten foot ghost in the grave- 
yard on Pilot Knob. 

Long, long afterward when we were 
alone, Billy told me all about it. He had 
gone home, got a sheet and a white skirt 
and tied them up in a bundle, and while 
we were tugging up the hill he drew apart 
from the crowd, and finally, dressed in his 
ghostly uniform, "appeared," and fright- 
ened us off. He told me of the time he had 
to keep from laughing out loud and spoil- 
ing the whole thing. He had many a 
_quiet laugh over it, all to himself, but 
never for a long time did he break the real 
truth to the boys. 



50 



The Leavenworth Herald had a big ar- 
ticle about an attempted grave robbery, the 
finding of tools, etc., but we never peeped. 
We were all in it and we all kept quiet. 

And though I kuov,- that Billy Cody was 
the ghost, I am free to confess I never 
recall that night, that wild, wierd night, 
without a creepy shudder. 



51 



FIRST BLOOD. 

The First Blood For Freedom. — Shed by Isaac 
Cody, Father of Buffalo Bill.— A Cowardly 
Ruffian Stabs Him in the Back as He is 
Making a Speech Against Slavery. — A Man 
With the Courage of His Convictions, and 
Who Transmitted His Courage and Love of 
Justice To His Son. 

I fully believe that the fir.st blood in the 
cause of Abolition of slavery which led up 
to the great Civil "War, even before the 
niartj^r John Brown was executed, was 
shed by Isaac Cody, father of Buffalo Bill. 

It was during those hot times when the 
fate of Kansas territory Avas trembling in 
the balance, whether she as a new state 
should be a slave state or a free state. 

Mr. Cody was a good speaker and was 
urged at a mass meeting to give his views 
on the subject. He was not a man to seek 
notoriety, nor yet to push himself forAv'ard, 



52 



but at the earnest solicitation of friends, 
and responding to loud cries of "Cody, 
Cody," he took the platform and in a ring- 
ing speech gave his views on the subject. 
He was not a man to mince matters, nor was 
he ever accused of being a weakling, or 
carrying water on both shoulders. People 
knew where to find him, and he had the 
courage of his convictions. He was fear- 
less in all things and this attribute of brav- 
ery he transmitted to his son, who through 
that inherited courage became the bravest 
and most noted scout and pathfinder the 
world has ever known. 

The speech of Isaac Cody did not sit 
well with the pro-slavery people, so he was 
threatened and hooted at by the border 
ruffians, a large majority of which made 
up the mass meeting. To threaten Isaac Cody 
was <^i'Iy to rouse the ire of a lion, and in 
unmistakeable terms he gave his views of 
slavery and his unbiased opinion of those 
who would pollute the virgin soil of Kansas 
with its curse. 

While engaged in his speech a big row- 
dy and a bad man known as Weston Red, 
stepped up behind him and with a large 
dirk knife stabbed him twice. As Mr. Cody 



53 



fell into the arms of his friends the big ruf- 
fian was taken care of by' the mob from 
Missouri and got across the river. 

Billy and I, two boys, thought of course 
he was killed, but he did not die at that 
time, but some time later he died from ef- 
fects of those ugly wounds. This was the 
first blood for freed(om. 

I put this in my story to show the stuff 
■of which Buffalo Bill is made. 



54 



"ABBIE." 

Scouting Ahead of a Wagon Train. — An Emi- 
grant's Wife Murdered. — Cody To the Res- 
cue. — Two Hair Raisers Forever Put Out of 
Business. — A Lonely Grave. — "Abbie." — A 
Child of the Plains.— An Orphan.— A Ward 
of Buffalo Bill.— The Orphan's Happy Home. 

"We were in advance of a government 
wagon train, far out on the plains of west- 
ern Kansas. The sun had long since gone 
down behind the hills and we could but 
dimly make out the timber line. By "tim- 
ber line" I don't mean the upper edge of 
the timber as you go up the mountains, 
where snow and verdure meet, but those 
strips of timber which skirt the water 
courses of the west. 

When we reached the timber, a camp 
fire sparkled through the trees and we 
could see the red smoke as with an occa- 
sional shower of sparks upward, it marked 



55 



the camping place of westward bound trav- 
elers. 

A shot and a heart-piercing shriek broke 
out on the still air. Scream followed 
scream, as we plunged the spurs into our 
horses and dashed to the rescue of whom 
or what we did not know. Cody first, Sin- 
clair next, Powell next, with the writer 
close behind, followed by Ed. Estes, James 
Currie, mule drivers and a "greaser" 
from the wagon train. So far in advance 
was Cody, that when we came up two In- 
dians were laid out and the others, maybe 
four or five had disappeared, and Billy was 
releasing the man of the camping party 
from his wagon w^heel where he had been 
bound by Indians — Dog Soldier Indians, the 
outlaws of the plains. The wife and moth- 
er lay dead, a baby's brains had been dash- 
ed out, and a girl about ten years old was 
released from the embrace of an Indian by 
a well directed shot from Cody's rifle. 
This was one of the two who would never 
raise another scalp. The man's name, we 
learned was Cooper. The little wife and 
mother was laid tenderly under a tree, and 
later when the wagon train came up, she 
was buried at the foot of that giant of the 



56 



forest, aud in tlie liark of that eottonwood 
tree the word "Abbie" was carved by the 
husband, and the little woman was left 
alone in God's wild country, the soughing 
winds and rustling leaves, chanting nature's 
requiem. 

Mr. Cooper and his daughter accom- 
panied us to Denver, and there for a long 
time we lost sight of them. 

A few years later, Cody, the scout, was 
handed a letter written by Hillyard Coop- 
er, asking him to take charge of "Little 
Abbie," now about 14 years old. Her fath- 
er had died, and the child was found in 
keeping of a miner and his wife. Cody at 
once took charge of the little one, sent her 
back to Leavenworth where in the home 
of a good Christian family she was edu- 
cated and grew to womanhood — the child 
of the plains — the ward of the scout. 

She is now the wife of a prominent St. 
Louis man of the old school, and her 
grand children revere the name of Buffalo 
Bill. The doors of this palatial home at 

place on one of the most fashionable 

drives in St. Louis swing open to Buffalo 
Bill, and a warm welcome always awaits 
him when he visits St. Louis. 



57 



BLACK DEATH. 

Buffalo Bill's Big Bluff.— How He Worked on 
Superstition and Saved the Train. — A Pow- 
wow and a Smoke. — The Writer Scared Stiff. 
— A Pipe of Tobacco, But no Smoke. — The 
Black Death a Trump Card. 

It looked bad one time on the plains for 
any small bodies of emigrants or "Avest- 
ward ho" travelers, for the Indians were 
either on the war path, or were possessed 
of that nervous warlike feeling which need- 
ed but a spark or a temptation in the shape 
of opportunity to make of them fiends in- 
carnate. That was the year well remem- 
bered by many of us whose locks are grey, 
when the cholera was committing ravages 
among the red men. 

Black death, they called it, and all the 
superstitious horror of this unseen enemy, 
which strikes in the dark seemed to over- 
shadow them. 



58 



On the occasion which leads to this ar- 
ticle, I chanced to be with Scout Cody ahea< 
of a wagon train bound for a government 
post far out on the frontier, with supplies 
— rations for the soldiers. It was the cus- 
tom of Cody, as scout, to ride far in 
advance of the train in order to the better 
give them time to prepare for attacks by 
the Indians, if he discovered them, or to 
select a place to camp if possible beside a 
water course or water hole. There were 
three of us in this advance party — not be- 
cause the scout needed us, but because of 
our request to ride the day with him. 

We were well mounted and well armed 
besides being good shots, at least the other 
two were, and of Cody's accuracy with the 
rifle the world to-day well knows. 

We had just turned the "rise of a hill, 
or divide" when Cody's long distance sight 
made out a large party of Indians ' ' coming 
our way." He turned to us and said: 
"Walt, ride like hell back to the train and 
tell them to corrall for a fight." 

Walt turned his horse and soon but a 
cloud of dust told us that he was letting 
his noble mare hit the prairie as fast as she 
wanted to, and she was some racer. 



59 



I asked Bill: "Why not turn back our- 
selves, and make for the wagon train!" 

"They've seen us, and it would only 
hasten matters if we turned tail. Better 
face it out here with a pow-wow. It's the 
only thing to do. It will save the train — " 

"But, Bill!" 

"Well?" 

And the way he said "well" meant a 
whole lot. It Avas the ultimatum. It sound- 
ed to me that somebody had to die to save 
the train, and we were elected. 

Now, if I were to brace up at this late 
date, and say that I looked well after my 
trusty rifle and prepared for the worst, it 
would be so big a lie that our friend St. 
Ananias would reach to embrace me. I 
did no such thing. I simply sat my horse 
and shivered. I was scared stiff. 

Cody, however, shading his eye watch- 
ed the oncoming hord of red devils, and 
bidding me sit my horse, he dismounted and 
taking his red blanket from his saddle went 
out alone and on foot to meet them. With 
the blanket over his arm he made a sign to 
them and spread the blanket upon the 
prairie and stood upon it, his long hair 
waving in the wind, his hand uplifted thus 



60 



appearing a statue turned to stone in the 
act of command. 

They approached him, and two or three 
bucks and the chief dismounted and came 
to his blanket. The oncoming crowd stop- 
ped and partly surrounded him, while three 
others pressed on to where I sat holding 
the horj^es and trying to say the Lord's 
prayer to rag time. 

The pow-wow lasted but a short time, 
and the Indians who came to secure me, 
made no move, "save to plant themselves 
on either side, and one of them conde- 
scended to say "How." 

"How," said I, but that was all. For 
the life of me, I couldn't think of a funny 
story to tell them, so I contented myself 
with asking one of them for tobac, which 
he reluctantly gave me. I lighted my pipe 
took a puff and offered it to him, but he 
refused, so there was no peace pipe smoke 
in our little pow wow. 

Soon, however, I saw the pipe passed 
around those who sat on the blanket with 
Cody, and I knew there was some progress 
made by him. They had consented to 
"talk" with him, and shortly after he 
stood up, waving his arms to the sky turn- 



61 



ing each way giving the same heavenward 
signals. It was less than ten minutes after 
his physical culture act that the entire 
band mounted and turning from the east, 
took up their journey to the southwest 
chanting the death song of the tribe or 
some other horrible melody. 

My two friends without even a Mexican 
"Adios" or Indian "how," departed after 
the moving band, leaving me with a full 
pipe of tobacco ahead but with a scare 
which I am sure made my red hair stick 
out like last fall's swamp grass. 

When Cody returned I asked him how 
he did it. 

"1 threatened to call Black death from 
the skies of the east, the west and the north 
if Ihey did not take the trail I pointed out, 
and as they had suffered the loss of sever- 
al by cholera the night before, 1 guess 
they thought there was something in my 
incantations for I used the name of the 
thunder god, and every god they feared, 
calling on the Great Spirit of the Medi- 
cine Man to loose the black death if they 
did not move, or to grant them freedom 
from it if they went peaceably away. I 
simply had to act like '"a locoed idiot, 



62 



and lie like sin. It was the only thing to 
do, and you see my cards won." 

Many deaths occurred that summer 
among the Indians, and the ravages of 
cholera, its quick action served to quell 
what promised to be a general uprising. 

Bill with his big bluff accomplished that 
day what a regiment of soldiers could not 
have done. 



63 



ON THE BIG PLAINS. 

Biily Makes His Start in Life as a Night Herd. 
— His First Trip on the Plains. — Parting of 
Boy Pards. — A Good-bye Letter to His Sweet- 
heart.— A Fare Well in Truth.— The Little 
Grave on Pilot Knob. 

"Pard, I'm going on the plains." This 
Billy said to me one night after he had 
had trouble at school, and had put the 
school bull}^ Steve Gobei, to the bad. It 
was as usual taking the part of a small 
boy that Billy got into this trouble, and 
incidentally in avenging a covert insult to 
one of our girl school mates. In the rough 
and tumble with the big bully, who was 
the terror of the school, Billy's dirk 
knife got tangled up with Gobel, and Billy 
was going to "duck" for a while. He hired 
out to Uncle Billy Russell as a night herd, 
and was to make his first trip across the 
plains with a wagon train. That night I 
shall never forget. Billy and I at the foot 



64 



of the big oak tree on the government res- 
ervation just above the line of the city lim- 
its. We talked it all over. There were 
three of us, Billy and I, and our Indian boy 
friend, Long Bow. Oh how I envied Billy. 
He was at last to make the start for the 
Big Plains. How many times we had talk- 
ed it over and how many castles we had 
builded looking forward to the time when 
we two pards should strike the trail and 
go out fighting Indians and killing buffalo. 
And now he must go alone. 

I have seen girl friends at parting. I 
have seen them give vent to their feelings 
in tears, as they were close in each other's 
embrace, but the close hand clasp as we 
stood there beneath the moon each with a 
lump in his throat spoke more and meant 
more than floods of tears. It was the 
first parting of boy friends. For we were 
friends then, and though half a hundred 
years have rolled • by we are the same 
friends as thtn. He gave me a good-bye 
letter to his girl sweetheart who shall be 
nameless here, as she sleeps and has slept 
for years in the little home burying ground 
on Pilot Knob. For days and weeks the 
little miss was inconsolable and ere many 



months had rolled away she was taken with 
lung fever and died. Billy never saw her 
again, but truth to tell, many a time since 
both he and I have stood by her grave. 

Billy went out as night herd, and it was 
his first trip on the plains. It was on 
this trip that he killed his first Indian. 
Then he was about 1'6 or 17 years old 



66 j 

4 



QUANTRELL, THE OUTLAW. 

And Yet He Was Our School Teacher. — A Mau 
Beloved by All His Pupils. — A Broom Wire 
and a Tumble. — An April Fool Joke. — Billy 
Escapes a Licking Because He Was Brave 
Enough To Tell the Truth, and Shield a 
School Girl. — All the World Admires Brav- 
ery. 

Qiiantrell is remembered only as the dar- 
ing desperado of Missouri. Lawrence, Kan- 
say, today shudders at the memory of his 
attrocilies when he sacked and burned that 
city and massacred men, women and chii- 
dri-n. 

Yet Quantrell was not always a desper- 
ado. A I one time he was a school teacher 
in Leavenworth, Kansas. He was well liked 
withal, but was in school hours a severe 
disciplinarian, sparing not the rod. At re- 
cess, however, he was on the play ground 
with tlie boys and girls and took interest 



67 



iu tnc health-giving sports of that early 
'iay. 

It was April first, all fools' day, and the 
us'ial irjcks of the day were in evidence. 
A party of the boys stretched a fine broom 
wire i'A ross the aisle at the approach to the 
teacher's desk. 

The teacher approached the wire and it 
threw him headlong onto the rostrum. 

For a moment there was a hush, and 
then Mr. Quantrell faced the school, and i 
shall never forget that livid face, that glar- 
ing eye that quivering lip. For a full mo- 
ment there was silence, then — 

"John Jestiee, lock that door and bring 
me the key." 

"Now, I'm going to commence with the 
back seat and thrash every pupil unless I 
am told at once who did that." 

"Who tied that wire in the aisle?" 

Not a sound. 

"Mary Hughes, step this way." 

This was too much for Cody, and up 
Avent his hand and he snapped his fingers. 

"What is it, Billy?" 

"She didn't do it." 

"Who did?" 

"She didn't." 



6S 



''That's no answer. I shall proceed and 
thrash every boy and girl in this school till 
I get the right one. Come up here, Mary." 

Billy got up from his seat and walked 
to the rostrum. 

"Mr. Quantrell, I did that." 

"Did any one else help?" 

"Yes sir." 

"Who was it?" 

"I'd rather not tell— I'll take the lick- 
ing for doing it. I didn't think it would 
hurt you. It was only done for a joke, and 
not in school hours." 

"Take off your coat." 

I can see Billy, now, after long years, 
how slowly and reluctantly he removed his 
jacket. I could see signs of a pretty big 
row, as the "big boys" straightened up in 
their seats. 

"Billy, look me in the eye." 

Billy looked into the eye of that infuri- 
ated teacher. It was a fearless gaze, and 
whether Quantrell was overcome by fear 
or admiration, we shall never know. 

"Billy, if you had lied to me, I should 
have thrashed you till you couldn't move. 
You may go to your seat." 

The tense feeling gradually wore off, 



and the school moved on till recess, when 
our teacher was with us on the play ground, 
and he bore no hard feelings towards Billy 
or any of the boys. 

And yet this man Quantrell, our good 
natured beloved school teacher, became one 
of the most fiendish blood thirsty villians 
and murderers that ever cut a throat. It 
don't seem possible, does it Billy. 



70 



HON. W. F. CODY. 

Buffalo Bill in tlie Legislature.— Elected in His 
Absence From the State. — A Surprise, a 
Joke.— A Buffalo Bill "Roar."— A "Fixer" 
Bribery Don't Work. — The Kansas Legisla- 
ture Entertains. — Buffalo Bill the Center of 
Attraction. — He Shies at Women. — "It's Too 
Warm, Here; Let's Slope." 

If I were to lay down my pen without 
speaking of Cody as a law maker, this 
would be incomplete. While away on a 
hunt in 1870, I think it was, his friends 
elected him a member of the Nebraska 
legislature. When he came home, and was 
informed of the honor thus thrust upon 
him, he simply "bucked," and told his 
friends he wouldn't serve. "A joke's a 
joke," said he, "but this is rather beyond 
it." When told that it was all straight, 
and that his district needed him, he finally 
buckled down to the facts in the case, and 



71 



proceeded to look up the duties of his new 
office, and prepare himself to make good. 

And he did make good. There are laws 
upon the statutes of Nebraska to-day estab- 
lishing the rights of settlers which were 
formulated and placed there by Buffalo 
Bill. He at once put on the harness and 
proceeded to do business. 

A born leader and organizer, it was not 
long before he had the hang of the ropes 
and had his organization complete ready 
to co-operate with him in anything for the 
good of the young state. In those days 
the corruption of a legislator was not an 
easy matter, and knowing Cody as the peo- 
ple did, they feared to approach him. 

And here let me describe him. He 
wouldn't cut his hair, which lay in massive 
locks upon his shoulders. He wouldn't w^ar 
a plug hat, or a dress suit. He wore his 
trousers in his boots and his gun was al- 
ways where he could pull on the drop of 
a hat. But those were the days when every 
man went armed. In this he was not im- 
common. 

He was "approached" once, however by 
a smooth representative of an eastern firm 
of land grabbers, who, poor silly fool, think- 



72 



ing th;\t ''vvvvy man had his price/' sought 
to enlist Cody in a move to swindle settlers 
out of their lands. I chanced to be visit- 
ing Bill at the time. 

Did you ever hear Buffalo Bill roar? 

No? 

Well, then, in his show days did you 
ever hear Ins sleiiLorian \-()ice as h*^ intro- 
duced "The Congress of Rough Riders of 
the World?" 

Well, Bill used that same voice. And 
he roared. And he cussed. Yes, he gave 
that poor cringing devil, the most beauti- 
i'ai line' oi rhythmical profanity it has ever 
been my good fortune to hear. Impreca- 
tions, maledictions and double jointed, em- 
boH.ied and s-iubclli.-,hed ^^ii.ss words rolled 
from his lips like bourbon from a moon- 
shiner's jug. He fairly flattened the poor 
devil against the wall, and, opening the 
d'W i./kl iiiju ii lie wa-: in town the follow- 
ing day he would fill him so full of holes 
thai; a cullender would be air tight com- 
pared to him. This he told him as he was 
busy putting his boot where it would em- 
pliafiize his language and give vent to his 
feelings. It was this which really brought 
ijiii to the front as a maker of that law 



wliich protected the rights of the settlers 
and secured to them their land, wmch to- 
day comprises some of the finest farms the 
sun shines on. 

That year the Kansas legislature enter- 
tained the Nebraska legislature at Topeka. 
It was a grand gathering of those western 
solons. The big guns, the grand speak- 
ers and prominent politicians were all 
tnere and made speeches, but the greatest 
crowd surrounded Buffalo Bill. He was 
the observed of all observers. His fame as 
a scout and Indian fighter was there be- 
fore him, and added to that his law for the 
benefit of the settlers was known and ap- 
plauded. 

But at the grand ball in the evening! 
"When the ladies flocked around him. He 
was sadly out of his element. He showed 
the white feather and at an opportune mo- 
ment he turned to me and said: 

"Its too warm here for us. Let's slope 
for the licker room." 

"You're right, my pard," says I. 



74 



BUFFALO BILL'S BILL. 

Hon. W. F. Cody Introduces a Bill in the House 
To Protect the Rights of Settlers.— His ' 
Maiden Speech.— "There is No Present, Let 
Us Build For the Future."— A Christmas 
G'it to the State. 

Speaking of Buffalo Bill as a law maker 
puts me in mind of a retort he made in the 
heat of debate. It was when his bill to 
protect the rights of settlers came up, and 
as it was being discussed, one member ob- 
jected to locking the land up for future 
generations. 

"We are looking," said the member, 
' ' for ourselves and not for generations yet 
unborn. We will let the future take care of 
itself. We are making la^vs for ourselves 
and for the present." 

I can still see the flash of Cody's eye as 
he arose to defend his bill— that bill which 



still holds good and through which the 
present generation has life, liberty and the 
pursuit of happiness, guaranteed to Amer- 
icans by the constitution so wisely builded 
by its makers at Independence Hall over 
two hundred years ago. 

"Mr. President," said Bill, as he arose, 
and was recognized by the chair, "We are 
building for the future, just the same as 
Washington and his congress built for the 
future. It Avas for the future that the con- 
stitution of the United States was planned, 
and here in this age we reap its benefits. 
It was a -wisely constructed document, for, 
mark you, Mr. President and gentlemen, it 
in its original entirely, applies to us 
out here on the border of the boundless 
west just as perfectly as it did at the birth 
of the Republic and when the Mississippi 
river was thought of as the jumping off 
place of the world. 

"That document, Mr. President was an 
inspired one. Had it been constructed to 
fit the then present it would be a worthless 
parchment to-day. ' ' 

There is no present. 

To-day is yesterday to-morrow, and now 
is then, in a twinkling. 



76 



When we are young we are struggling, 
hoping, fighting, working for the future, 
buoyed up by the good angel Hope, for a 
place in the future. 

All our energies are forward bent. We 
throw our lariet over the point of a star 
and secure it to our wagon. We burn the 
fires of our youth and middle age, we keep 
our muscles tense, buoyed up with bright 
prospects ahead. Not for now are we work- 
ing, it is for the future— the evanescent 
future— just beyond— out of our grasp. 
We attain this or that object only to use 
ir as a stepping stone, and thrusting our- 
selves further into the future, push it be- 
hind us. 

Is it not the truth? All the men we 
know are in the conflict. Some not such 
energetic fighters, some idly lying on the 
surface drifting along, waiting for some- 
thing to turn up — mayhap the toes of a 
rich relation — but all looking to the future. 
The hand of time moves on picturing 
the good, the bad, the fortunate and the 
failure, the swift sailing steamer and the 
unmanned derelict— all drifting or pushing, 
for the future. But the future is never 
reached so that we may stand solid there 



77 



on and say: "This is truly the present." 

There comes a time when we cease to 
care so much for the now or for the future. 
Many there be who, as we look at them we 
say: "He's rich, he's happy." 

The same man we envy looks lovingly 
back to the good, old times of the past. 
Pleasant memories present to him, the 
many pleasures he had, but which were not 
appreciated in his struggle for the evasive 
future. 

Back in that humble cottage away back 
there sits father, mother, brother, sister 
around the evening lamp — a happy home. 

Memory works. The roseate hue of the 
first throes of love pass before his vision. 
A sweet faced school girl' — his early love is 
there — the pleasant walk to and from 
school with steps slow — oh, so slow, and 
with the parting of the ways all too close. 
The future is discussed between you two — 
you remember it. Castles of air and with 
all the hues of the rainbow are builded. 

Another movement of memory. Your 
bride sits by your side. All is sweet, all is 
heaven, and as hand in hand you sit in the 
twilight, you build more castles, looking 
forward, ever forward to — the future. 



A tiny hand, a golden curl, a sweet face, 
a sunshine in your home. Oh, the joy of 
motherhood — the pride of the young father, 
as he strokes the silken hair of his first 
born, the man of the future, your boy. 

Do you recognize the picture on the 
plate of memory? It is the castle you build- 
ed for your boy, your little Carl. All is joy, 
hope, faith in your son. Every energy shall 
be bent every nerve strained to make that 
boy — your boy — a man among men, a lead- 
er respected, and honored of all men. 

The picture of our memory still moves. 
We do not see the record of the present. 
The light fails, the picture dims. A little 
white cot, a lovely child flushed with fever. 
A— 

Listen! a soft bell is tolling. 

A little white hearse with its following 
winds slowly up over the hill to the sil-nt 
city of marble. 

That is all. 

The future, as Ave turn to it presents our 
true friend Hope. Holding in her hand a 
scroll, she with her fairy wand points to 
tile words. 

"Suffer little children to come unto 
Me" — and, as we ponder the meaning, we 



locate tile lioiiK' of our little loved one. 

Hope turns a page. 

"I go to prepare a place for you" — 

"Hope springs eternal in the human 
breast" they say, and by her help we read 
the guide board — the message our little 
Carl left as the good angel bore him on- 
ward. 

"I am here; our home is waiting. Y^ait- 
ing for papa and mamma." 

It was the Christ child whose natal day 
we celebrate made this possible. It was 
His adA^ent on earth. His thirty years jour- 
ney; his great sacrifice which called into 
being the good angel Hope, always beckon- 
ing us onward, always pointing forward to 
the future — the bright future just beyond — 

No, there is no present. 

Then let us build for the future. The 
past has gone. We have only the future. 

Let us here and now build for the gener- 
ations yet unborn. When our proud state 
shall be known as a commonwealth of con- 
tented homes. 

This speech was made just before Christ- 
mas, and the bill was passed, securing the 
rights of settlers in Nebraska, and present- 
ed to that state as a Christmas gift. 



SO 



IRON TAIL. 

The Last of a Disapearing Race. — A Noted 
Chieftain, a Blood Thirsty Savage, Yet with- 
al a True Friend.— "An Indian Never For- 
gives a Wrong, ncr Forgets a Friend. — A 
Red Skin Standpatter. — An Indian Lover. — 
The Old Chief's Tribute to His White Friend. 
— The Pipe of Peace. 

The reader will naturally inquire, "Who 
is Iron Tail?" Many have met the kindly 
natured old cliief with the Wild Yv^est show 
of later years. Iron Tail is not simply an 
Injun, picked up to form a setting in the 
historical play. 

Iron Tail is a part of history — of the 
history of the wild and wooly west. He 
was one of the chiefs whose name brought 
a thrill of fear to the people of the border. 
He was a leader among the red men, and 
one in whose breast rankled the serpent of 
vengeance, for the loss of their lands. It 



81 



was he who led many a fatal raid and with 
the stolid glee of many an Indian quietly 
lifted the scalps of his victims. Had Iron 
Tail been born a white man, his name 
would be known from coast to coast. He 
is a born organizer and among his people 
was a recognized leader, and to this day 
his name is spoken with reverence at all 
campfires of whatsoever tribe or nation. 
Among his people he was a conquorer and 
a general. 

In early days long before the last great 
uprising, Col. Cody, then still known as 
''Bill," did the young buck a favor. This 
was before the blanket and war bonnet of 
the far-famed chief his father had fallen 
to his keeping. 

It was during a temporary peace, en- 
forced undoubtedly by the presence of 
government soldiers plentifully scattered 
on the plains, and at the time when young 
"Pahaska" (the Indian name for Buffalo 
Bill) was feared by the red men as one who 
bore a charmed life, and was in touch with 
the Spirit. 

Young Iron Tail wooed and won the 
daugliter of a chief of another tribe, but 
the courtship met with no favor from her 



82 



father. The young man who always had an 
air of good camradrie, and was on good 
terms with young Billy, called one night at 
his home near Leavenworth, and without 
knocking "appeared" in the room with 
his gaze fixed on the young scout. There 
was no beckoning, no nod of the head, but 
simply "How," and he strode out of the 
door, Cody following. The family though 
somewhat used to these Indian moves, some- 
how feared treachery. The Indian seemed 
to sense it, and turning about, laid on the 
the floor his gun and knife, and holding up 
his hands, with a smile turned and joined 
Cody outside the home. 

Here he told his trouble and asked the 
assistance of young "Pahaska." 

The following day Cody visited the 
tepee of the old chief, and after a long 
talk, making many promises of help, as 
against the Cherokees, a tribe more power- 
ful than his own, succeeded in "showing 
the old man." It was not, however, until 
aftv^r many "smokes" that the old chief 
fjiifily consented, but he did, and I may 
add here in parenthesis that it was a good 
move and one he never regretted, for with 
the assistance and "palaver" of Cody the 



83 



two tribes were united, together forming 
one of tlie most formidable and close 
Indian alliances on the plains. 

Ihis was the kindness Cody did for Iron 
Tail, and was the beginning of a life long 
friendship, and to-day these ill assorted 
men, white and red, are as firmly bound 
in friendship as brothers — nay, more, for 
Iron Tail is Buffalo Bill's shadow, both 
wiih the show, and on the big hunt which 
the two invariably take each year when 
the show is in winter quarters. 

But for Iron Tail's tribute: 

The writer of this was with Cody and 
with the Indians so much that he, like many 
another "border boy" learned to speak 
their language, and knowing Iron Tail for 
years, and being known as "Billy's" friend, 
the old chief paid a beautiful tribute to his 
friend "Pahaska," and it has been ringing 
in my ears till it seems to take the meas- 
ured beat of rhyme, and so near as I may 
I translate it as follows : 



84 



IRON TAIL'S TRIBUTE. 

I long for the plains of the boundless west, 

The seas of waving green, 
The buffalo bounding free and wild, 

And the yelp of the coyotte lean. 

I long for the days of long ago, 

When the red man wooed the squaw, 

And sailed his love, his redskin doe. 
On the waves of the raging Kaw. 

I long for the days when I was young, 
"With my quiver and trusty bow, 

AVhen *Pahaska, the long haired chief, 
Was young, and good to know. 

I'm growing old, my eye is dim, 
My life has been long, and 'round 

The mystic campfire my friends await 
In the happy hunting ground. 

Pahaska, my friend, is true to me, 
''We're pards," he says, "old boy," 

And the firm clasp of the long haired chief, 
To old Iron Tail brings joy. 

*— Pahaska, "Long Hair," the Indian name 
for Buffalo Bill. 



85 



We're nearing the last long sleep, we two, | 

Pahaska, my friend, and I, j 

So what care I, with my brother white, 1 

How swiftly time may fly. I 

Tor soon the tom-tom will beat for me, I 

And the red men gather round, j 

And dance the dance of death, you see, j 
'Ere I leave for the hunting ground. . ! 

And Pahaska, long haired chief, will kneel ^ 

And talk to the Spirit Great, \ 

About old Iron Tail, the chief, : 

His friend and Indian mate. • 

And then I'll go to my horse and dogs, j 

Who will bark and leap and bound, j 

And, with my pipe, for my friend I'll Avait 1 

In the happy hunting ground. j 

Ajid Pahaska will come to greet me there, > 

Far off through the boundless blue, ; 

jTo the Spirit Great will take me, as i 

A red man tried and true. ; 



86 



ALONE WITH GOD. 

The Boundless Prairie. — A Night and a Day. — 
The Star Studded Sky.— The Lonesome Mule. 
— A Sow Belly Supper. — A Smoke. — Asleep. — 
Alone. — A Dangerous Journey. — The Perils of 
of a Scout. 

If you are a fairly old man you could 
have seen what I have seen. But if you are 
as old as the everlasting hills and have 
never been west of the Missouri river, you 
could not have seen it. 

Have you ever been alone with God? 

Go with me to the vast and seemingly 
endless prairies of the west, ride alone all 
day, far, far from any human habitation, 
over the boundless sea of waving prairie 
grass, the summer sun beating down upon 
you, catching a drink now and then from a 
buffalo wallow or a water hole, Avatching 
the blazing sun transformed now into a big 
red ball nestle quietly down into the same 
sea of green which surrounds you on all. 
sides. 



87 



If you know your horse, or as in my 
-case, your mule, you will take off saddle 
and bridle and turn him loose to roll and 
graze the night through or settle down for 
a quiet snooze, well fitted for rest by his 
tiresome journey. 

You settle your saddle for a pillow, 
spread your blanket, open your grub sack 
and take out your hard tack and sow belly 
and proceed to have supper. You light 
your fire of dried grass, of last year's vin- 
tage backed by dried buffalo chips and do 
what cooking you can in the shape of fry- 
ing the bacon in its own grease, making 
coffee in your "horseback" camp kettle, 
and with an appetite whetted by "the 
plains" devour as a dainty morsel such 
grub as would turn your stomach "in civ- 
ilization. ' ' 

But you are on the plains. Kestauraiits 
and short order houses are not sending out 
their enticing odors. Bacon has a mighty 
fine flavor, and besides, the legs of that 
Jack rabbit, broAvned to a turn in the 
bacon grease makes good eating. Butter? 
Nope, bacon';? good enough. 

But supper's over. You fill your pipe 
and settle down for a good smoke. You 



are all alone. It is dark. You can hear 
your mule feeding just a few yards away. 
As lie grazes, here and there, picking the 
choice tufts of buffalo grass, you can hear 
each time he cuts off a tuft and grinds it 
up wilh a champ, chHinp. 

You settle down on your back, look up^ 
up, into the dark spangled distance. 
A mammoth dark bowl covers you. It is 
studded with stars. At all points the great 
circle comes down and resting upon the 
earth, shuts you in. You do not have a 
feeling of being shut in, on the contrary, 
you feel free, free, alone — it is all yours. 
Yours to gaze upon; to breathe in the pure 
air of the boundless west. 

You are alone — with God. 

You feel safe. 

True it is, alone as you may feel there 
are hundreds — nay thousands — to bear you 
company. Listen to the noise of the silence 
— a paradox. Hear the katydid, the grass- 
hopper, and the thousands of other insect 
hymns of praise to the Great Ruler of the 
Universe. 

This is God's country. 

It may be that your sleep will be deep 
and unbroken till the early dawn, or per- 



89 



liaps your mule, waking up has missed you 
or wandered away. Then he will tune up 
as only a lonesome mule can, and call for 
you. You will know it is a call, for it is 
more plaintive and entirely different from 
the bray of the animal under ordinary cir- 
cumstances. 

I am judging your mule by my mule. 
You rise up and call or answer your faith- 
ful companion and he will come to you 
whisking his tail as sporty as if he did not 
know he had a long day's journey before 
him. 

The dew on the grass has given him 
drink, or moisture as well as food, and he 
is in good shape to make it to the first 
watercourse. 

This is a day and a night — but it was 
of the night I sought to tell. 

As you lie there looking up at the stars 
there seems to be a holy hush, and I defy 
any old plainsman to say that he has lain 
down in the middle of that vast green uni- 
verse under that big starry bowl that he 
did not think of God, and of the great pow- 
er and kindness, and protection of the ruler 
whose name is God. 

I care not how wicked he may be, an 



90 



outlaw if you will, that spark of God in all 
mankind recognizes its master and goes out 
to Him in the lonely vastness of the broad 
prairie. He feels — 

Alone with God. 

This prelude I write to show what Will 
Cody experienced not once but many times 
when on urgent trips through the heart of 
the hostile Indian country, bearing dis- 
patches from one army post to another, of- 
ten through territory where he dared not 
build a fire by day or night, for the light 
is a guide for hostile Indians by night and 
;i pillar of smoke by day invites the red 
man to lift your scalp. It is lonesome 
enough in times of peace, when danger does 
not threaten, but how much it draws upon 
a lunn's bravery when he undertakes a trip 
of days through a country where every rise 
of a hill may disclose a horde of blood 
thirsty red skins. Literally he took his 
scalp in his hand, he who made those trips, 
and more than once this fearless scout has 
saved the soldiers' women and children of 
the border army posts. What this govern- 
ment owes to Buffalo Bill may never be 
written, or paid. 

And these "forlorn hope" trips were 



91 



taken, not by a soldier, who acted under or- 
ders, but by a man who volunteered. Med- 
als he has been given, it is true, by congress. 
Letters of commendation galore, he has had 
from generals of the army, but I am free 
to acknowledge, right here and now, I have 
never seen the time when I valued my au- 
burn locks so cheaply as to undertake any 
one of the many trips made by Buffalo Bill 
through hostile Indian country in the inter- 
ests of civilization. 

I have since seen him in his great show 
surrounded by his army of people and ad- 
mired him, but never has my heart welled 
up into my throat as it did when I watched 
him disappear over the rise on a mission 
from which I felt he would never return. 

Verily he was alone with God. 



92 



JESSE JAMES. 

Taking Dinner Witii tlie Noted Outlaw. — Mis- 
souri Hospitality. — A Squirrel Hunt. — Eu- 
gene Field and I Share the Hospitality of 
Jesse James and His Mother. — Jesse as a 
Plainsman. — One Brave Man's Opinion of 
Another. — "Buffalo Bill is the Bravest Man 
That Ever Crossed the Plains, and True as 
Gold." 

It was my good fortune or ill, as you 
like, to meet the notorious Jesse James at 
the home of his mother down in Missouri. 
It was long before the humble home be- 
came the mecea for curious visitors. it 
was at a time when there was a price on 
the head of the outlaw. 

My companion was the late Eugene 
Field, and we stopped there for a dinner. 
It was the custom in those days to purchase 
a meal at any farm house, and this was 



93 



the hospitable door which opened to our 
knock. 

We told the lady that we were hungry; 
that we had been hunting all day with no 
luck, and would like to liave our dinner. 

We were made welcome by the soft 
voice of the lady and we sat in the sitting 
room while waiting for the meal which was 
being prepared. It was nearing noon time 
and she said: "The men folks will be in 
from the field pretty soon, so make your- 
selves comfortable." 

While we were waiting, a man stepped 
in and greeted us with — ''Good day, gen- 
tlemen; waiting for dinner?" We answer- 
ed him in the affirmative, and as we look- 
ed we both knew that it was the notorious 
Jesse James, for we both had seen him at 
the great robbery of the Kansas City fair- 
grounds, and once seen his was a face and 
carriage never to be forgotten. 

But he was on his native heath, where 
every farm house was a place of refuge, 
and every person a loyal friend. As we 
sat there the conversation turned to Buf- 
falo Bill, for on the table lay a copy of the 
New York Weekly with his story w^ritten 
as a serial, by Ned Bimtline. 



94 



"I would sooner shake hands with Buf- 
falo Bill, man to man than any king that 
ever walked the earth. I believe, from 
what I know of him personally, that he is 
the bravest single man that ever crossed 
the plains, and though he would not re- 
member me, I once crossed the plains with 
him in a wagon train for which he was 
guide and scout. A brave man, a dead 
shot and true as gold," 

We spent a pleasant hour with the noted 
outlaw, and before dinner we were regaled 
with the genuine old bourbon, which he 
brought from the cellar in a tin dipper and 
served in tea cups. He didn't seem a bit 
afraid of us even though I boasted the 
weight of 130 pounds, and Gene was but a 
few pounds heavier. He knew every move 
made for his capture, for word Avas got to 
him by boy, man, girl or woman, as soon 
as danger threatened. So he seemed per- 
fectly care free. But this is not a Jesse 
James story. I give it only to show what 
one brave man thought of another. 



A DEAD SHOT. 



We have all seen Buffalo Bill and his 
fine marksmanship in the ring, A great 
many people think he must have to keep 
in good practice to do that fancy shooting. 

He was always a good shot. Even as a 
boy, his friends did not fear to hold an 
apple between the thumb and finger for 
him to pierce with a bullet. And the 
strange part of it is that though he has 
probably shot bushels of apples in this way, 
he never harmed a hair of the holder. He 
was a born shot, and though I knew him 
at an early age, I do not recall the time 
when he was not a prime shot, far above 
the average man, and good shots were the 
rule and not the exception on the border. 

As I look at it now, I think he could 
disable an automobile at long range by 
puncturing its tires. He would make a 
good officer to enforce the speed limit, but 
as he is something of a speeder himself, I 
don't believe he would harm a motor car 
any more than he would abuse a horse. 



96 



WHITE FAWN. 

A Story of the Early West.— A Stolen Child 
Returned to Her Parents After Years as an 
Adopted Indian. — Buffalo Bill as Rescuer. — 
"Cody's Deer." — The Waif in Her Happy Home. 

This was the name borne by a white 
girl who had been stolen while a baby by 
the Indians. It was in the days of the big 
plains, when Denver was but a handful 
of houses, shacks and tents. It was long 
before the bands of steel had united the 
oceans, and dotted the western prairies 
with farms, towns and cities. It was in 
the days when a horde of red skins would 
appear to a moving family or train of 
movers, and steal live stock, and in many 
instances murder the party outright. 

Camped for the night on the banks of 
a stream Avas a party of movers, seeking 
homes in the new west. A band of Indians, 
Cheyennes, came upon the party, and drove 
off their live stock, shot two of the men, 
mistreated the women, and carried away 



97 



captive a little child ten years old. One 
of the men was so badly wounded that he 
died the second day after, but the others 
were unhurt, A single team of horses es- 
caped the stampede and were hitched to 
one of the wagons, and moved on. The 
mother of the little one was frantic, but 
there was no trace of her child or of the 
Indians, so there was nothing to do but to 
move on with the party, leaving her little 
one to her fate. This may souncl heartless, 
but it would avail the mother nothing to 
stay at the scene of her trouble. Her lit- 
tle one was gone, and she fervently prayed 
that the Good Lord in His mercy had tak- 
en her to himself. Days -wore themselves 
into weeks, weeks into months, and no 
tidings of the child. The Avorcl had gone 
out, and every plainsman knew of the stol- 
en child and kept a look out for her. But 
now it faded from their memory. 

Years afterward when Cody was a pony 
express rider he heard of a white girl with 
a tribe of Indians. She was known as 
"White Fawn," and Cody determined to 
see if it were the lost girl He watched for 
that migrating tribe, and his efforts were 
rewarded after several months, searching 



98 







WHITE FAWN. 



99 



at odd times, when he was not on a scout- 
ing trip or guiding a train. 

It was at a time when the red men were 
at peace with the whites, a temporary lull 
so that they could draw rations from the 
government that Cody who was attached 
to a supply train, came upon white Fawn, 
as she, with the members of her tribe, 
came into camp to draw their supplies. 
There were no established trading or sup- 
ply posts then. The Indians were in camp 
a short distance from the supply camp, and 
the young scout made a night visit to the 
Indian camp. He waited his opportunity 
to get a word with the girl, and it seemed 
she was anxious to speak with him. But 
the watchful eye of the old squaw, her 
foster mother, prevented. There was, how- 
ever, a friendly squaw, who met Cody and 
voluntered her assistance to spirit the girl 
beyond the limits of the camp, to a point 
where the young scout could meet her. 
The meeting was a success, and plans were 
laid whereby "White Fawn" was to leave 
her red people and go with him to "the 
States," where she could be with the 
whites. 

It was a long story, as it was told me 



100 



though he succeeded in getting her away. 
The night was fixed, and the girl and her 
Indian friend were at the spot appointed. 
Cody was there with his own horse, and a 
government horse, and the buckskin travel- 
ing trunk of White Fawn, was strapped to 
the saddle. Not a soul in camp knew of 
the move save the officer in command, 
and it was through him that Cody secured 
the extra horse. It was midnight when the 
pair started for the fort and it was late 
the next night before they reached it. 

For some time the two rode over the 
prairies, along the wagon trail. Each mo- 
ment taking them farther away from dan- 
ger of discovery or capture, for the Indians 
were very jealous of White Fawn and dis- 
covery of her absence would be quickly 
followed by pursuit. 

Slowing down their horses as they as- 
cended a rise, they felt rather secure. The 
night was a perfect one, bright with stars, 
and the moon had not yet risen. 

Listen! Far to the rear came faintly 
the sound of hoof beats muffled by the 
turf road of the prairies. Not one but 
many, it seemed, and the sensitive hearing 
of the horses seemed to take on the im- 



101 



portance of liurry, and without spur or 
whip they went to their work. The short 
respite had rested the well broken thor- 
oughbreds, and they easily took the long 
swinging gallop of a trained prairie horse. 
It was their native heath. And both horses 
were of superior wind and range. Not an 
ounce of fat. All muscle and bone and 
wind which would far out-strip the most 
highly prized thoroughbreds of the east. 

A word to his horse, and the animals 
with one accord let out another link of 
speed, but still nearer, nearer and more 
distinct came the pursuers. It was a ride 
to the finish. It was the chase of death, 
for well Cody knew that a capture by that 
Indian horde meant death for him and 
vorse for his girl companion. 

White Fawn set her lips and urged her 
ga'lant steed forward. Not a sound of fear 
did she utter. Only an encouraging word 
and a tap of her moccasined feet in the 
ar.imal's flank. The moon coming up threw 
a flood of light over the prairie and shed a 
radiance on the race. 

On came the savages, half a dozen in 
number, mounted on fresh horses. On they 
came, until finding they were discovered. 



102 



they raised that curdling yell so well known 
to the plainsmen. It was the cry of de- 
mons. It was the wild chant of ^.leath. 
Would the noble horses hold out lialf an 
hour longer? Could they? 

Already their sides thumped and their 
breath came in labored puffs, but still the 
metal of the warhorse never slackened 
speed. Now the course Avas a gentle slope 
down the hill, and the advantage they gain- 
ed would put them pretty close to the fort, 
at least within gunshot sound. 

The mad race continued, and the Indians 
well knowing they must capture them quick 
or give up the chase, put their horses to 
their best. 

They were gaining. 

Cody saw that the race was over, and 
something must be done, for their horses 
showed signs of giving out. The noble an- 
imals Avere almost at the end of their en- 
durance. 

. The fort was in sight, but still a good 
long distance away. 

''Ride your best, but spare your horse," 
said Cody. "Don't wait for me, but ride, 
ride." 

White Fawn kept up the pace while 



103 



Cody turned in the saddle and saw the In- 
dians just over the brow of the hill. Like 
a statue he and his horse stood," he ready 
with his rifle, and the horse, breathing 
hard but gaining its lost wind. 

As soon as the formost came within 
range, Cody sent a well directed shot and 
dropped the on coming horse. This gave 
him time, for the Indians stopped for a mo- 
ment, but soon they were a-gain on the 
chase. Another shot from Cody, and still 
another had a tendency to slaken their 
speed to keep them out of his range. This 
was continued until one young buck, more 
reckless than the rest, rode far in advance 
of the others and opened fire on Cody. He 
was not a good shot, but Cody turned in 
the saddle and this itme shot the rider not 
the horse. 

This ended the pursuit, and just as the 
gray of dawn was dimming the moonlight, 
Cody and White Fawn rode into the fort. 

The horses were worn out, but thanks 
to the love of every plainsman for horses. 
They were at once taken in hand and cared 
for as tenderly and kindly as though they 
were the winning favorites of a king. 
"White Fawn" was taken charge of by 



104 



the wife of one of the officers, and through 
the good big heart of Gen. Carr, she was 
taken to. the East, to be educated, and 
fitted to take her place as a white woman. 
The news of her capture got into the papers 
and it was not long before her parents came 
from Denver to claim their long lost child. 
The good natured General Carr suggested 
that the waif of the prairies be given the 
name of "White Fawn Cody," or as he 
put it in a joking manner "Cody's Deer." 

"White Fawn," is not a person of the 
past. True, she is not the bounding lassie 
she was when she was ' ' an Indian, ' ' but she 
is a well preserved Denver lady with little 
white fawns of her own, who in turn have 
their families about them. The world has 
been kind to White Fawn, and I think she 
will read this little sketch of herself in 
her own beautiful Denver home. 

White Fawn spends much of her sum- 
mer outing with C^jI. Cody's sister — Mrs. 
Decker, in the healthful climate of Cody 
City, Wyoming, up in the mountains where 
the air is pure and the Avaving pines give 
out their health laden aroma, where the 
mountain trout are plentiful, and big game 
lures the adventurous hunter. 



105 



FLIRTING WITH DEATH. 

"Sometime Bill Cody will be missing, 
and we'll run across him filled full of ar- 
rows and lead, and without his scalp," said 
Walt Sinclair, one of the bravest scouts of 
the plains. "He takes chances no other 
man would take, for love or money. He 
simply courts death, but if the red devils 
get hold of him, they'll torture him. 
They've got a whole lot laid up against 
him, and he knows it. I tell you the In- 
dian that kills Cody will be a chief as soon 
as it is done," and Walt proceeded to fill 
his pipe. 

"I tell yez," said Mike Sullivan, as 
long as Bill has ammunition they'll not get 
his scalp. Why he'd sooner have a gun 
duel wid an Injun than kiss a gurrel." 
said Walt. 

"But suppose his bullets gave out?" 

"Well, ye darn fool, don't ye s'pose he 
has his dirk knife ? ' ' and Mike turned away 
as. if that settled it. 

From what I have seen of Buffalo Bill, 
boy and man, and from what I have heard 
from others who have been on the plains 



106 



with him, I believe that more than any 
man living he has flirted and coquetted 
with death. Its a born trait with him, and 
he enjoys it. 



THOSE WATERMELONS. 

If you look back in your life you can 
remember some old grouch that you'd like 
to get even with. One of this kind crossed 
the path of "the Clan." He made it un- 
comfortable for us when ever we went near 
his farm in melon time. In fact several of 
the boys know how a dose of bird shot 
feels, and more than one took his meals 
standing because of John Duke and his 
bird shot. 

This old grouch was in town one day 
with a big load of watermelons, taking 
them to Fort Leavenworth, three miles 
above, to sell to the soldiers. 

Of course, as boys will, we gathered 
around the wagon when he stopped in front 
of Hastings' store, and one of the boys felt 
the sting of his whip as he climbed on the 
wagon wheel. 



107 



Billy noticed tliat the end gate was se- 
cured by a piece of clothesline, and not the 
customary iron rod. He also knew that 
Duke would have to drive up a steep hill 
to get to Fort Leavenworth. Using his 
Barlow knife for a bow, a'hd the rope for a 
fiddle string, Billy stood there innocently 
watching the old grouch sell melons. When 
he was ready, to go Billy's tune was ended, 
and but a few strains or strands remained 
of the improvised fiddle string. Not a 
word was said among the boys, but intui- 
tively we following at a safe distance the 
load of melons. The hill was reached and 
the splendid team lay to their collars as 
they started up the incline. The rope held 
well, but when half way up the hill it be- 
came divorced and such an avalanche of 
melons I never saw before or since. It 
was not a land slide it was a melon roll, a 
squash a splash a crack, and the juicy cores 
lay temptingly red on the road. We were 
not in sight, but if John Duke had taken 
a skirmish in the deep hazel brush on either 
side of the road there would have been 
some tall running. As it was he only look- 
ed at the raveled rope and said things. 
There were about twenty or thirty melons 



108 



left in the big wagon bed so lie patched up 
his end gate and went on to the fort. And 
then those harpies ! How like birds of prey- 
over the carcass of a buffalo they did de- 
scend on that fruit! We ate till we could 
eat no more, and though there was enough 
and to spTire, we could only look with 
longing eyes and leave it. But that is just 
the boy of it. Boys of to-day will do the 
same thing, just so long as there are surly 
grouchy men to get even with. 

And honest, I think Buffalo Bill hates 
an over-bearing grouch to-day as bad as 
Billy did then. 



DIFFERENT DAMS. 

Buffalo Bill straightens up and throws 

out his chest when he points with pride 

to the dam in the mountains on the line 

of the Cody trail as the highest dam in 

the world. 

There are dams and damns. 

I can recall a time when he had but 
six shots in his gun, and we thought the 
lives of three of us depended upon his 
marksmanship. 

One of them missed fire. 



109 



A bunch of redskins were coming our 
way and their scalping knives were ready 
to unhair us. They were coming swift, too, 
and for one I am free to confess that when 
I tried to pray, I forget all but "Now I 
lay me," and that darn fool Cody, as we 
thought him, actually set his rifle down on 
end to say 

"Damn." 

I think as I look back that was the high- 
est, lowest, longest, widest damn I ever 
saw or heard. 

Then he took up his rifle, and winged 
the foremost causing him to drop his gun, 
and whirl, followed by the rest of his party 
of five. 

"Big dam?" 

There's a whole lot of difference wheth- 
er it is dam or damn. 

"Stick to history," says Cody, so I'll 
just add that this same Indian still bear- 
ing Cody's bullet mark on his arm is with 
the show, or was in August, 1911, and is 
now a good Indian, and one of the historical 
features in the pictures of the Wild West. 



110 



A LOVING CUP. 

Buffalo Bill is Attacked Before an Audience of 
Nearlj^ 20,000 People and Presented with a 
Loving Cup by the Citizens of Clinton, Iowa. 
— The State of His Birth. — Auditor Hayes' 
Tribute and Buffalo Bill's Reply, 

I take the following from the Cliuton, 
Iowa Herald, to show how Buffalo Bill's 
native state appreciates her illustrious son: 

"For the past two weeks, the Booster 
Club of this city has been sending out per- 
gonal invitations to our sister cities to join 
with us in giving Buffalo Bill, the ovation 
of his life. 

Two reasons there were for this : First, 
b«^('ause he is an Iowa boy, born within a 
few miles of this city, near LeClaire, and 
second, because it is his last appearance in 
the arena at Clinton. Acting on this his 
friends in Clinton conceived the idea of 
fiesenting him with a souvenir of The 
J^right Spot, and a remembrance of his 



111 



idrewell tour. Accordiugij^ Avord was pass- 
ed down the line and the result was a mam- 
moth sterling silver loving cup for Cody. 
The plan was laid before Brumer Bros., 
an elegant cup secured, and by these gen- 
tlemen properly engraved, not only with 
the inscription on the front, but with the 
names of the donors on the reverse side. 
A handsome plush lined case to fit the 
cup was also a special order, and as it was 
displayed in the window of Brumer Bros., 
was the finest ever seen in Clinton. 

In the afternoon an immense crowd 
thronged the grounds and when the doors 
were opened that vast concourse; quickly 
transferred itself to seats in the mammoth 
colliseum. Catchy music by the famous Cow 
Band band opened the program. Shortly 
after came the opening or introductory act. 
The various nationalities represented by 
their rough riders were called and took 
their places in the grand arena. Then their 
national flag and its standard bearer. Thus 
the various tribes of Indians each followed 
by its chief came in on their sturdy Amer- 
ican ponies. The cow boys from the vast 
plains of America, and last the Old Scout 
and maker of history, Buffalo Bill, accom- 



112 



1 








4 





panied by Old Glory, greeted Avith cheers 
from thousands of patriotic throats, for Old 
Glory and the Iowa boy who bore it into 
the western wilds — the entering wedge for 
civilization. 

At the close of the intial act of the 
big show, this afternoon, and just as the 
Colonel had finished his introduction of the 
Congress of National Rough Kiders, two 
little daughters of Attorney C. H, George 
approached him in the arena from the grand 
stand, one bearing a silk flag, and the other 
the cup. They were followed by Mr. Wil- 
liam E. Hayes, city auditor, who had been 
selected to make a brief address. It was 
a case of an Iowa boy of this generation 
addressing an Iowa born bo}^ of two gen- 
eration ago. It was a tribute of a youth 
of this century to a veteran of the history 
making epoch of our country. Mr. Hayes' 
address was in substance as follows: 
"Hon. W. F. Cody— Buffalo Bill: 

It has been delegated to me, a represen- 
tative of your friends in the City of Clinton, 
as City Auditor, to present to you this Lov- 
ing Cup. . 

It is with feelings of pride that I acceed 
to their wishes. It is a privilege accorded 



113 



to but one of our generation, to address 
the man who made history; the man who 
as pioneer and border scout, opened the 
way through the wilds of the west, and 
made it possible for the flag of empire to 
move westward, and later for the steel 
bands of our great commercial highway to 
unite the east and west. This is known. 
Col. Cody, wherever English is spoken, but 
we feel that more is due to a son of Iowa, 
than empty words. And now in the name 
of your friends, and the City of Clinton, I 
as an Iowa born boy, tender to Iowa's il- 
lustrious son, this token of our good will 
and friendship. 

It may not be studded with gems of 
priceless value. It is not. It may not bear 
the crest of royalty or the insigna of a mon- 
arch. It does not. It comes from true free 
Americans — every man a king. It brings 
to you the loyal heart throbs of Iowa — 
your Iowa. It is not for me to rehearse 
your days of danger, your deeds of valor 
on the border or in the war. It is not for 
me to tell what the people of Iowa recog- 
nize in an Iowa boy. It's all in the cup. 
Take this memento from the State of your 
birth, from those who know you well. 



114 



It is tendered you with earnest God 
speeds as you step from the arena and 
take your place with America's other kings, 
a simple American Citizen, but to remain 
till time shall be no more, the only Buffalo 
Bill." 

The loving cup is of Sterling silver lined 
with Etruscan gold and stands 12 inches 
high and is of the Grecian urn pattern, hav- 
ing handfes on either side with a modeling 
of vine effect around the top and bottom, 
a beaded circle just above the base, while 
the base of the cup proper is beautifully 
molded in Egyptian scroll pattern, in un- 
i'-on with the handles. 

The front of the cup bears the follow- 
ing inscription : 

To 

Col. W. F. Cody 

Buffalo Bill 

A Maker of History 

An Iowa Boy 

Who Honors His State 

From 

The Citizens of 

Clinton, Iowa, 

August 4, 

1911. 



115 



'''he reverse of the cup bears the names 
of Clinton citizens who made the presenta- 
ti'^i a possibility, as follows: 

H. U. Crockett, G. A. Smith, G. W. For- 
rest, C. E. McMahon, W. E. Hayes, J. D. 
Van Allen, C. H. George, J. A. Lubbers, 

E. G. Brumer, G. C. Smith, G. A. Brumer, 
Otto Korn, B. :SL Jacobsen, A. G. Smith, 
A C. Smith, Wm. Oakes, G. M. Curtis, L. 
Lamb, C. C. Coan, T. W. Hall, H. S. Towle, 

F. Ellis, R. AV. Bye, T. E. Hauke, F. Leed- 
ham, J. G. McGrath, L. C. Eastman, Jack 
Hayes, J. Baer, E. Carstensen, H. Ray, H. 
Pahl, D. Shiebley, F. Leffingwell, C. Clancy 

G. McGrath, Clark J. McLane, D. H. Win- 
get, L. F. Weston, 0. E. Greene. 

The ease, made especially for the cup, • 
is a handsome cabinet of cushioned leather 
de lux, and is lined with royal purple 
plush, fitted ui3 to snugly hold the silver 
and protect it in transportation, or, open 
to set it off for exhibition, when it rests 
in its ultimate home in Col. Cody's cabinet 
of prized souvenirs in his mountain bung- 
alow "Pahaska." 

We had figured that we would get Col. 
Cody, Avhere language would fail him, but 
nothing doing ; nothing short of chloro- 



116 



form will do it. In response to the presen- 
tation address though a little taken off his 
feet, he grasped the horse's name, and 
made a very graceful talk complimenting 
the "Bright Spot,'" her people and voicing 
the pleasure it always gave him to visit 
Clinton and the state of his birth. 

As the old scout doffed his sombrero, 
and took a last look over a Clinton audi- 
ence, we feel sure that a photograph of 
"The Bright Spot" was indellibly etched 
in his memory." 



117 




BUFFALO BILL AS SANTA GLAUS. 



118 



BUFFALO BILL AS SANTA CLAUS. 



A True Sory Told in Verse. 
[By D. H. Winget.] 



*'Twas Christmas on the border, 

When the West was wild and young, 
Before the days of railroads. 

When many a horse-thief swung; 
When men, to seek their fortunes, 

Took their lives into their hands, 
And dug and washed for gold dust 

In those far-off golden sands. 

It was rough, I tell you, pardner, 

Out in those mining camps, 
With only rough, big bearded men 

Whose memory on me stamps 
The fact, that 'neath the woolen shirt, 

There beat big hearts and true. 
And tender as a woman's. 

And honest through and through. 

119 



The games were not as gentle 

As tennis or croquet, 
'Twas fashion to play poker there 

And bags of dust the pay. 
A mile or so from our gulch, 

A washerwoman lived. 
Whose little children ate and wore 

From what she earned and saved. 



This Christmas eve I speak of 

One of the boys was out; 
He saw the washerwoman's light, 

And turned, this Western scout, 
Straight for the lighted cabin — 

For he was looking 'round 
For a gang of thieves and outlaws: 

The cabin's light he found. 



With eager tread he hastened, 

"I've found them in their den, 
Thought he, "and now I'll listen, 

I think I've got my men." 
With hand upon his pistol 

He neared the cabin door, 
And listened to the voices — 

Then could not wait for more. 

120 



To this the have scout listened 

Out on the border wilds: 
"Oh, ma! tomorrow's Christmas!" 

The sweet voice was a child's, 
"And will the good old Santa come 

And bring us toys and slates, 
And pretty dolls and candies, too. 

Like he used to in the States?" 



"God grant he may," she answered, 

"But I am not so sure 
That Santa Glaus will be so kind 

Now that we are so poor. 
But go to bed, my darlings. 

And say your evening prayer; 
Eemember God is in the West 

As well as "way back there." 



The scout went to the window 

Through which a bright light shone; 
He saw her kiss the children, 

"God bless you both, my own!" 
"Gol darned if I can stand it"; 

He wiped away a tear. 
To which his eyes a stranger 

Had been for many a year. 

121 



The little children went to bed — 

They left the mother there, 
And overcome with bitter grief 

She knelt in earnest prayer; 
^'Oh, God!" she said, and weeping, 

"Kemove this bitter cup; 
How can I disappoint them. 

They've hung their stockings up. 



*'I've not a slice of bacon 

Or crust of bread to eat, 
When they awake for breakfast, 

Nor nothing good or sweet; 
Thy will be done. Oh Father, 

But if it be Thy will, 
Oh, let me get some clothes and wood 

To ward off cold and chill." 



'Twas too much for the hardy scout — 

He turned to move away, 
But caught the children's voices. 

And, to hear what they would say, 
He neared their bedroom window, 

And while he waited there 
He listened to the lisping. 

As they raised their voice in prayer. 

122 



"0, Dod bless our dear mamma, 

Who works so hard all day, 
And buys good things for us to eat, 

When the miners come and pay; 
An' Dod, you know she loves you, 

And don't like folks what swears, 
And makes her little children 

Kneel down and say dere prayers. 



And, Dod, if 'taint much trouble, 
I'll ask some more, because, 

You see tomorrow's Christmas, 
And please send Santa Claus 

To put fings in our stockings — 
We hung 'em up out dere — 
Susie's by the chimney. 
And mine is on the chair. 



Now, Dod, please don't dis 'point us, 

Just send whatever suits; 
Send sis a pair of nice warm shoes 

And me a pair of boots. 
And, Dod, please send a blanket — 

This cover's awful thin. 
And great big holes all through the house. 

They let the cold come in. 



123 



Now, Dod, I'll say dood night to you, 

Because I'se awful cold. 
And if I ask for too much things 

You'll think I'se getting bold; 
But if you please, before you go, 

I'll ask you — this is all — 
If it ain't too expensive, 

Please send my ma a shawl." 



"You bet your life He will, my boy,' 

The scout said, soft and low, 
And turning then with silent tread — 

Back to the camp did go. 
"Wake up, you fellers, one and all, 

And ante up with me — 
I'll show you how to gamble 

In a way you'll like to see." 



"Now what's excited Buffalo Bill, 

I wonder?" shouted one. 
"Just listen," said the border scout, 

"While through my talk I run." 
And then he told the story through- 

The facts set plain and clear; 
And many a rough old miner's hand 

Brushed from his eye a tear. 

124 



"Now, here's a tAventy-dollar piece, 

Who'll ante up with me. 
To make the little children 

Go wild and dance with giee?" 
The poker tables bore rich fruit — 

The stacks of gold heaped high; 
"I'll go you one and raise you two, 

"I'll stay with you or die." 



Bill took his hat and passed it 'round, 

"Be lively, boys, because 
Before the sun is up, you know, 

We'll all be Santa Claus." 
The boys all chipped in coin and dust 

Like men who business meant. 
And then from out that gambling den 

To another one they went. 



And told the story o'er again — 

The same results all round — 
And others joined the merry throng, 

And "chink" the gold did sound. 
They went the 'rounds of all saloons 

And gambling dens in camp. 
With big, rough, honest, manly hearts 

And torches for a lamp. 

125 



It warn't no scrimping crowd, you bet, 

The money poured like rain; 
The rough old miners stood not back. 

Nor were their efforts vain. 
The money came, the men increased, 

Then went they to the store. 
Too buy the things the children wished. 

Warm clothes and food and more 



Than had been thought or asked for 

By the children while at prayer, 
Or the mother in her fondest wish 

For her little darlings there; 
And many a miner rough choked up, 

At the thought of cruel fates, 
For some had wives and loved ones 

Away back in the States. 



They heaped a pile of everything 

The border store contained, 
For the widow and her children. 

Until nothing else remained 
For them to do, but get it there 

To the widow's lowly home — 
Then was their night's work finished. 

And then abroad they'd roam. 

126 



There were lots of us rough fellows 

(For I was in the crowd), 
And each man gathered up a load, 

Though no one spoke aloud. 
And then led on by Cody 

To the widow's lonely hut, 
Across the gulch, beyond the hill, 

"We took the shortest cut. 



Then quiet every miner 

Deposited his. load 
Before the little cabin door, 

Then gathered in the road; 
And in that pile was everything 

The widow could desire; 
And of pure virgin gold a sack 

Still made the pile raise higher. 



And to the sack they tied a note 

Which bade the widow cheer, 
And said: "Accept this Christmas gift 

From One who's always near, 
For God has heard your children. 

And this is here because 
It was your darlings' earnest prayer 

And God sent Santa Claus." 

127 



"Who'll stand guard till daybreak?' 

"Buffalo Bill," said Cy., 
"And Avitli his trusty rifle 

He'll guard the gift or die." 
A man all clad in buckskin 

Stepped out and said "I will!" 
The miners knew the gift was safe- 

The man was Buffalo Bill. 



On the bright Christmas morning 

She opened wide the door, 
And an avalanche of Christmas 

Came tumbling on the floor. 
The children heard the rumble 

Of the gift, and without pause 
They came in from their bedroom 

And shouted "Santa Claus!" 



The widow knelt beside them, 

Despite their childish pranks; 
"With streaming eyes and fuller heart 

Returned to God her thanks. 
And stealthy through the bushes 

There moved off one so still, 
"God bless you little cubs," said he, 

Then vanished Buffalo Bill. 

128 



DOWN TO BRASS TACKS. 

Gathering Up the Threads, Counting on My 
Fingers and Finding Errors in Figures, Dates 
and Ages. 

I said at the beginning of these sketch- 
es that I would pay no attention to dates 
or figures. That, I thought, was a safe 
proposition for I am so poor with figures 
that I actually don't know a good figure 
when I see one, be it man, woman, or fig- 
ure of speech. To acknowledge to you on 
the quiet, I juggle figures so badly that 
Mr. Smith, my banker, has to telephone to 
me for red ink to balance my account, and 
I guess its blushing for me even as I pen 
these lines. 

But to get down to figures, just a few 
facts in paragraphs to even up the errors 
in age and date of several of the foregoing 



129 



sketches, which were printed, as fast as 
written : 

In his 11th year, Billy Cocl}^ was on the 
plains scouting and herding for Russell, 
Majors and Waddell, and the train was cap- 
tured, and the wagons burned by the no- 
torious Lot Smith, the Mormon Danite 
chief, one hundred miles east of Salt Lake, 
and Billy with others who escaped the 
massacre footed it back to Leavenworth, 
making a trip of over lOOO miles. "This 
hike," says the Colonel, "broke me of 
walking." But of this more further on. 

And again. Before he was 19, he was 
riding pony express, that great opening of 
mail communication across the vast plains, 
and still before that whto but 16 years old 
he was wagon master in charge of one of 
those long trains of prairie scooners. 

In his 19th year, he was made Chief of 
Scouts of the U. S, and guide by General 
Sherman, who recognized in the boy the 
metal and courage of a western plainsman. 

Had I kept on at this rate, I would have 
had Col. Cody in the JMethusela class, or 
helping George Washington cut down the 
cherry tree. Confound these figures any- 
how. But at that, in those days a whole 



130 



lot of excitement could be crowded into a 
^short space of time. As I look back upon 
it through the haze of half a century, things 
merge one into another, and while I recall 
names and places long forgotten, I cannot 
always confine events to their proper time. 
It is just as I told you in the beginning, I 
shall not be accurate as to dates, but the 
various sketches are true to the letter. 

Right here before I forget it, I want to 
say that the worst massacres of the plains 
were incited by out law white men, far 
loAver in the scale of human degradation 
than the Indians whom they used as tools. 
Cody one time made the remark that civil- 
ization would have been greatly facilitated 
had the white outlaws been captured and 
shot wherever found. Cody knew the In- 
dian, and with all his trying experience 
with the red man, I do not believe there is 
a white man who walks the earth to-day 
who has a greater respect for our red 
brother than Buffalo Bill, and on the other 
hand, I don't believe there ever rode the 
plains a single man whom the Indians fear- 
ed and respected as they did this long hair- 
ed avenger of blood or dispenser of mercy. 
His word was good with the red man. He 



131 



never lied to them or deceived them. They 
well knew that if he swung his rifle to the 
shoulder an Indian was going to bite the 
dust. He was a dead shot, and never pulled 
his gun until he was within range. He 
knew his gun and knew his sight. 

Buffalo Bill was a constant menace to 
the white outlaws, and they were constant- 
ly looking for an opporutnity to kill him. 
He was in their way. 

But I started this chapter to talk about 
figures, and I have done so, and have ram- 
bled away, touching lightly on several sub- 
jects each of which would make a book. 

!So I'll start again in my rambling way 
regardless of dates until mayhap I get my- 
self into another tangle 



132 



AT ELEVEN YEARS. 

Billy Cody as Herd Boy, Has a Thrilling Exper- 
ience. — A Wagon Train Captured by Danites, 
the Mormon Terrors of the Plains. — A Nervy 
Wagon Master. — A Supply Train Burned and 
Its Crew Captured. — A Long Hike For the 
East. — This Broke Young Cody of Walking. 

Billy Cody at the age of 11, got a job 
with Wagon Master Simpson, as night herd, 
and his duties were to ride watch on the 
grazing cattle, for it was a "bull outfit." 
Mr. Simpson was one of those rough big 
hearted men of the plains, and had taken 
quite a notion to Billy, and it was on his 
promise to take good care of the boy that 
Mrs. Cody gave her consent to his going. 

One night when his train was coralled 
and all were peacefully sleeping in camp 
about 100 miles east of Salt Lake, the no- 
torious Lot Smith, the Danite, with a hun- 
dred of his white outlaws (Mormons) came 



133 



riding by, but were taken for returning 
travelers, and no notice take of them until 
they came closer. Cattle were stampeded, 
horses were stolen, and the entire train 
crew forced to surrender. 

Simpson Avas wagon master, and he and 
a few of his men had ridden quite a dis- 
tance from the camp. The Danites quite a 
body of white men approached the camp, 
and those who were still awake, supposing 
them to be returning travelers, of which 
many were encountered, suspected no 
treachery, but extended them the western 
hospitality of the camp. This gave the 
Danites the opportunity they desired and 
drawing their guns disarmed the few, bound 
them, and in the same manner secured the 
sleeping drivers. 

Mr. Simpson and his men were also de- 
ceived and captured. But Mr. Simpson, a 
man of iron nerve, proceeded to tell the 
Danite leader what he thought of him, and 
this course, instead of meaning murder, 
rather awakened the admiration of Lot 
Smith, who gave them their arms, and one 
wagon of supplies for food, and allowed 
them to depart for the east, leaving the 



134 



remainder of the train and cattle to the 
Danites, 

The defeated and disappointed men, 
knowing they were over-powered by num- 
bers, took up their journey eastward, and 
later as they climbed a hill they could see 
the flames and smoke of their burning 
wagons and supplies, Billy was a boy — a 
child, but this was his record long distance 
walk. He footed it a thousand miles which 
as he told me, just last May, (1912), ef- 
fectually broke him of walking. 

Now, you Boy Scouts, when you are 
weary of a long "hike" think of the Orig- 
inal Boy Scout and his little "hike" of 
1000 miles. Are you game? 



135 



A BOY WAGON MASTER. 

How Supplies Were Transported Across the 
Plains to the Frontier Army Posts. — The 
Bull Outfit. — A Dead Shot and a 17-year Old 
Boy with Nerve. — A Trusted Wagon Boss. 

A boundless prairie, a long train of 
white covered wagons, a liimdred in number 
and to each liitclied eight yoke of oxen — 
sixteen cattle and walking beside each wag- "■ 
on, armed with a long lash bull whip was 
a driver, or bull whacker as they were call- 
ed. This was the style of crossing the 
plains in those good old primitive days. 
Quite a difference to the mile-a-minute 
trains of elegant coaches which now flash 
over the same route. 

Each train was in charge of a wagon 
master whose word was law, whose law 
was supreme. These trains were laden with 
provisions and ammunition for the soldiers 
far out on the western frontier stationed at 



136 



crude camps called posts or forts, and it 
was up to the wagon master to deliver the 
goods. On him more than any other one 
man depended the sustenance of these 
western soldiers. 

The bull whackers as a rule were a 
rough and ready lawless set, and it requir- 
ed a man of iron nerve and tact to handle 
them. 

The man in charge of this train -^-^ as a 
mere boy — not yet 20, and yet he handled 
that crowd of men perfectly. They recog- 
nized in that boy a born leader, and though 
he was but the age of many of our boy 
scouts of to-day, he bore an air of com- 
mand far beyond his years. 

One move of mutiny, according- to the 
laws of the plains, meant death. No time 
for courts, no time for juries, no imprison- 
ment, for there were no prisons. With the 
first mutinous move a crack of a rifle, and 
the leader was tried, convicted and sen- 
tenced. A single moment settled the case 
beyond recall, and all was over. As I said 
before, it required a man of iron nerve in 
the wagon master. 

This boy had the nerve. 

His word was law. 



137 



His commands were obeyed. 

His name was Cody — Billy Cody. 

He was a dead shot. 

It was these attributes and accomplish- 
ments which made him the most trusted 
and successful wagon master of the plains, 
and another thing which won for him the 
respect of that great firm of freighters, was 
that he was true. He could be trusted. 
Many thousands of dollars worth of goods 
were placed in his charge, and they were 
always delivered intact to their destination. 



138 



WESTERN GIRLS. 

The Metal Our Western Girls Were Made of.— 
Their Loyalty to the Boy Scouts. — Games 
of Danger. — Lives of Nerve — Young Protec- 
tors.— Billy's "Clan."— Nellie's Wild Ride.— 
"The Raiders Are Coming." — Billy's Rifle. — 
Long Bow's Arrov.'. — Two Scalps. 

To write this little sketch, I have taken 
to the woods. Memory here, aided by the 
sighing of the wind in the trees, carries me 
back to the heavily timbered banks of the 
Missouri river, in the days when the west 
was a trackless wilderness, when the forests 
were a dense network of trees, bushes jind 
uTiCiergrowth and the prairies one grand 
Atlantic ocean of green billowing waviny- 
grass. 

This is the setting for our play gro.und 
as boys. But in those wild western days, 
danger lurked on every hand. The Indians 
were not the subdued people they now are, 



139 



the white man was counted his game, the 
same as the buffalo, or other wild animals, 
but more — he was counted their enemy, and 
the basis of an Indian's worth and promi- 
nence with his tribe was gauged by the num- 
ber of white people's scalps which dangled 
from his belt. So you can see that the 
playground of the western boy was full of 
danger. The boys of the west were trained 
to these dangers, and were always prepar- 
ed. They had their fire arms and, what is 
more, the^ could use them. Where the 
boys of today, go a few blocks to a park 
or ball ground for their pleasure, miles and 
sometimes many of them were compassed 
in our wild western games. Our ponies 
were our true tried friends, our rifles our 
constant companions. 

As I sit writing here, the wind sings a 
song, and lulls me to sleep. I am carried 
back, on the enchanted rug, the jiiagic car- 
pet of memory. Billy and Long Bow, our 
Indian friend, are with me. Our ponies 
graze quietly near by; we look up through 
the leafy branches of the maiinuotli oak 
and build our air castles. 

It is nearing evening, the sun sun shines 
through the trees, making patches of shift- 



140 



ing light on the grass, as the soughing wind 
rustles through the branches. 

Long Bow with his acute sense hears 
something which brings him to his i'eet. 
We all rise. 

Nearer and nearer came the hoof beats 
— a horse on a dead run. Nearer and near- 
er it came, and in the opening with her 
black hair flying in the wind, urging her 
pony to its best, came 'Nellie Cody, Billy's 
sister. 

"Quick boys — the raiders,'* she said, 
and at once we were on the way back to 
town. Our ponies seemed to know that 
their best was expected, and buckled down 
to the race. Others of the "girl scouts" 
had given the alarm and the raiders were 
cpiickly turned away, but not before two of 
their number were fixed for a funeral. 

Billy's rifle cracked, and an arrow from 
Long Bow did good service. Others of the 
"boy clan" were on hand, and the raiders 
who swooped down when the men folks of 
the little settlement were away, were taken 
care of by Billy and his boy scouts. The 
raiders rode rapidly away to the south, 
and no more was heard of them at that 
time. 



141 



It is but fair to say that Long Bow, with 
the Indian in his nature, scalped his man, 
and after completing the job, raised the 
hair of Billy's victim and presented the 
scalp to Cody, who told him to keep it. 
Thus at least one Indian had an extra 
scalp to his credit. 

At a meeting the evening of the citizens 
much praise was awarded Billy and his boys 
and one of the speakers said "We can al- 
ways feel safe if Billy Cody is at home." 
And you can just bet all the boys and girls 
were proud of their brave young leader. 

Times are tame, now. The West is con- 
quored. The vast prairies are seas of gold- 
en grain. The trail of the "bull outfit" 
has given way to the steel rails and the 
comet like train of luxurious coaches. The 
buffalo, with the Indian, are rapidly disap- 
pearing from the face of the earth, and 
soon, yes, before this little book has worn 
out, the only evidences we shall have of 
the wild west and its red men, its wolves, 
its buffalo, its catamonfs, its broad wild 
prairie will be but the printed page of the 
historian, and even then many will call it 
an overdrawn picture. 



142 



HANDS UP! 

A Short Chapter About What the Boy Scout 
Did to an Outlaw. — A Timely v/arning, and 
a Bad Man Captured. — The Border Rufiians 
Fail To Get Their Man.— Billy Gets His, 
and the Vigilantes Do the Rest. 

For a long time the little city of Leaven- 
worth, Kansas, had been infected by mau- 
rauding gangs of outlaws from Missouri. 
They were known as Border Euffians. They 
were of the lower class and were men wh/ose 
mission was not pro-slavery, but robbery. 
These were men who would kill a man for 
money, and it was generally believed that 
they were hired to put out of the way some 
of the leading Free State citizens. 

One night just after Billy had got huire 
from a scouting expedition, a tap was heard 
at his bed room window, and Billy arose 
to find his Indian friend Long Bov\- await- 



143 



ing him. He hastily dressed and armed 
himself, for no person went out without 
arms in those days. The young Indian 
told him that a party had crossed the river 
in skiffs and were at the foot of Pottawa- 
toma street on the river's edge. It took 
but a short time for Billy to size up the 
crowd of three — all desperate fellows. The 
white boy and the Indian watched their ev- 
ery move, and Billy crept so close on the 
overhanging bank that he could hear their 
conversation. It seems that Jim Lane, one 
of the Free State men, most hated, was in 
town, and it was the mission of these men 
to call him out and capture or kill him. It 
was late when one of their number started 
out on the mission, the others to follow 
shortly after, when Lane should be away 
from his house, the pretence being that Col. 
Weibling had sent for him. Billy dispatch- 
ed the Indian boy to wake up the boys of 
our set, while he trailed the outlaw. The 
ruse was fairly successful, and Mr. Lane 
hastened to comply with the request, to 
come at once to Col. Weibling. 

But they had not counted on "Billy," 
the boy scout. Just as Mr. Lane closed 
the window after receiving the message, 



144 



and telling the messenger to wait and he 
would accompany him. 

' ' Hands up ! " 

And the outlaw turned and looked into 
the muzzles of two navy revolvers. Billy 
was behind them. Plis hands went up, and 
Mr. Lane hearing the altercation, came out 
at once. 

"Take his pistols, Mr. Lane," said Billy 
"He is here to kill you." 

Mr. Lane took the pistols from the 
belt of the outlaw, and Billy marched him 
down to the jail on Delaware street. 

The rest of the gang got uneasy and 
took to their boat leaving their companion 
to the "court of the Vigilantes." 



145 



A ROYAL HUNT. 

Grand Duke Alexis of Rus.sia, Guest of the 
Government. — Buffalo Bill in Charge of the 
Hunt. — The Luxuries of the Season on the 
Big Plains.— The Grand Duke Kills a Buffalo. 
— "Old Brigham" and "Lucretia" Prime Fac- 
tors. — A Buffalo Pony's Education. — The Grauci 
Duke Almost Unhorsed. 

Ah jou will note in the first pages of 
this book, Buffalo Bill has told me to stick 
to history. I am going to obey him in this 
little sketch. 

This is in regard to the grand buffalo 
h'li t which was gotten up by the govern- 
ment for the benefit of the Grand Duke 
Alexis of Russia. 

Probably if I were of the stripe of men 
who cringe and tody to those of royal blood, 
I would say that this scion of Russian no- 
bility rode nobly into the herd and selected 
the prize bull of tlie herd or the leader of 



146 



the grand run of buffalo, numbering many 
thousands, and with a well directed shot 
between the eyes made the monarch of the 
prairies "bite the dust." 

But that would be a lie, and who ever 
heard of either George AVashington or I, 
telling a lie? 

The Grand Duke Alexis, the Crown 
Prince of all the Russias, was the guest of 
the government, and as a feature of his en- 
tertainment turned him loose upon our 
boundless prairies, selecting for his guide 
and (shall we say chaperone) Buffalo Bill, 
the king of buffalo hunters. All the luxur- 
ies which could be provided for this scion 
of royalty was provided for this migkty 
hunter of European extraction. He v/as 
the cream a la creme of royalty — the world 
was his — except the wild portion of the 
United States, and to this by the courtesy 
of the government he was introduced. 

As the plains go, he was provided with 
a royal escort. His traveling outfit em- 
braced the best the wild west could afford. 
With this royal hunter went enough packs 
of soldiers' supplies to take care of a regi- 
ment of plainsmen. Where the ordinary 
hunter had a pack saddle, he had an eight 



147 



mule team laden with all the delicacies of 
the market; where the average plainsman 
had hard taek and sow belly, he had all the 
delicacies of the season and a French chef; 
where good old red whiskey was good 
enough for the plainsman, wines of every 
brand, and artistic mixeoligists were in evi- 
dence, and that Imping scintillating, bub- 
bling champagne was on hand to make his 
royal nibbs feel at home. Just think of it! 
Away out on the plains where luke warm 
water out of a water hole or buffalo wal- 
low was a godsend to the plainsman, iced 
champagne was there for your request, 
where hard tack was the rule, angel food 
was forth coming. The government was 
entertaining a royal guest. 

But there is a time and place where all 
men meet on the level. One of them, the 
present king of England knows, as he rap 
the gavel or places the setting maul, and 
the other was on the boundless prairies of 
the west in the buffalo hunt. The best the 
country provided was placed at the com- 
mand of the Grand Duke. A faultless rifle 
was handed him, a pair of buffalo spurs 
were buckled on his boots, and the finest 
horse that ever chased a buffalo was his 



148 



mount. It was Buffalo Bill's horse "Brig- 
ham," the finest and best buffalo ponj^ that 
ever covered the range. 

Buffaloes know no royalty but them- 
selves, they were kings of the plains. 

"Brigham" needed not the coaching or 
rein of king, prince or potentate to show 
him how to hunt buffalo. He was the com- 
panion of that buffalo king, "Buff a^ Bill." 

The Crown Prince of all the Russias 
bestrode the king of the prairies, and went 
forth conquoring and to conquor. The 
trained buffalo horse brought him along 
side a buffalo and gave him a chance to 
put two shots into the animal, which he did, 
but the sense of the horse went royalty one 
better, and, as any trained buffalo horse 
will do, he turned at an abrupt angle to 
escape the angered beast. This was not 
reckoned on by the royal scion, and he was 
ncfirly unhorsed by the quick move. How- 
ever, he came into camp with one leg hang- 
ing over the saddle, and the rifle somewhere 
on the broad prairie. But to give the 
Grand Duke all the credit, he killed his buf- 
falo, and it was singled out and the head 
and horns preserved, and I feel sure that 



149 



it is in evidence somewhere in the royal 
museum of Russia today. 

A confession: — 

Right here, and now, I will cianfess that 
I wanted a souvenir of that hunt. I have 
it. From the boots I stole the spurs which 
he wore when he killed the buffalo, and I 
have them yet. 

The rifle was Buffalo Bill's "Lucretia," 
and we found it. Buffalo Bill has it to- 
day, if he has not given it away. The horse, 
Old Brigham, of that further on, a chapter. 



150 



A PERILOUS TRIP. 

Buffalo Bill as a Volunteer Scout — Carrying 
Dispatches.— A Forlorn Hope.— A Noble Horse 
and An Intrepid Horseman. — The Dangers of 
the Indian Country. — Signs and Trails. — An 
Army Post Saved. 

I wonder if tliere yet lives some of the 
party of settlers of that frontier post, who 
were so near an Indian massacre. I mean 
those who were doomed by the hordes of 
Indians to torture and death, to rapine and 
robbery. 

Word of the uprising was given by a 
friendly Indian to Buffalo Bill, who had 
just came to the post after a long and tire- 
some ride. He told it to the commanding 
officer, who at once sought means of relief, 
and called for volunteers to carry dis- 
patches to another post with orders to 
move at once and save the little camp of 
settlers. Though there were soldiers and 



151 



scouts in the fort, not one cared to en- 
counter what all knew would be certain 
death, 

Cody had been in the saddle twenty- 
four hours, and his horse was dead beat out. 
and Buffalo Bill himself did not look as if 
he could travel another mile. 

"General," said he, "if you can't find 
anyone else, I will go if you will furnish me 
a good fresh horse." 

"Billy," said the officer, "I think 
you've done your share, and 1 don't be- 
lieve you could stand the ride, but if you 
feel equal to it and are willing to under- 
take the task, the best horse in the stables 
is at your command." 

Food and coffee were provided, and Billy 
fell to and ate with an appetite sharpened 
by fasting and the sharp invigorating air 
of the western prairies. 

He went to the stables and looking over 
the horses selected one which he felt he 
could trust. Equipped with an extra 
amount of ammunition and fire arms, and 
light but substantal food, dried buffalo 
meat and a slice or two of bacon, he start- 
ed on his errand of life saving. 

The way led him over the trackless 



152 



prairies, and as a bird flics he took his ride 
across the billowy sea o"f waving grass, to 
the south-west, his only guide the stars, 
and his native instinct, if it can so be 
termed. 

Miles away he could see the signal fires 
of lii.' various camps of Indians, and he 
well knew that if his ride should be suc- 
cessful he must be far away before the 
daylight gave the Indians a sight of him. 

His horse was well chosen. He v\'as all 
that Cody counted he would be. His gait 
was a long swinging lope, changing now 
and then to a rangy canter, but losing no 
time, as he widened the gap between the 
Indians and him, and drew closer to the 
soldiers whom he sought. 

Not once in the whole night did h.- en- 
counter a person, red or white, and it was 
not until early dawn as he took the rise of 
a hill that he was seen by the Indians. 
Just before him and in the direct line of 
his trail, a mile aAvay, stood an Indian 
lookout mounted on a splendid specimen 
of horseflesh, and as the two stood thus 
and from hill to hill surveyed each other 
they might have been taken for equestrian 
statues, so still were they, and motionless. 



153 




"Like An Equestrian Statue." 

Just a look. His rilie was unslung, the 
cinch of his saddle made more secure, his 
pack load thrown to the ground and all 
made as light for his noble animal as possi- 
ble. Slowly he rode down the hill until out 
of sight of the sentinel, and then giving 
rein to his well trained prairie horse, skirt- 



154 




"An Indian Look-out." 

ed the hill, and at a mad gallop far faster 
than had been asked of the horse, he took 
up his race with death. On sped the noble 
animal. Not a sound of broken wind; not 
a single miss step ; not a sign of grief. The 
horse was a thorough western animal. He 



153 



knew what was expected of liim, and as he 
spurned the turf of the prairie, the rein 
loose on the saddle, he picked his own way. 
No rein needed he, no spur, no urging. He 
was really Buffalo Bill in horseflesh. His 
rider sat with ease in the saddle, and from 
time to time, half turned, looking for the 
red devils which he knew must be in pur- 
suit. He did not look in vain, for close with- 
in range a party of swift riding braves 
were crossing the now rolling prairie to 
intercept him. He watched closely till he 
had a good sight on the foremost, who was 
fully a hundred yards ahead of the others, 
and pulled the trigger, killing the horse 
and throwing the redskin to the ground. 
Not a step did the faithful horse lose nor 
once did he falter. Raising himself in the 
stirrup, Cody loaded and sent another ball 
from his old "Lucretia" as he called his 
rifle. This disconcerted his followers as 
another horse dropped, and Cody gained 
time. He rode in to the post just at day 
break, and gave the alarm. 

The cavalry were out in a twinkling for 
those border soldiers slept ready for in- 
stant fight. The companies rode to the lit- 
tle settlement, and after a short but de- 



156 



cisive battle, put the Indians to flight, 
leaving several dead and wounded on the 
field, evidence of the marksmanship of 
those western fighters. Tlins Buffalo Bill 
had been in the saddle on this occasion, 
a day and two nights, had taken part in 
the fight, and had pretty w^ell earned a 
square meal and a good sound sleep. 

This feat of horsemanship and endur- 
ance was the wonder of the plains and was 
talked of by all plainsmen, and finally got 
to the ears of the authorities at Washing- 
ton. As a result, Buffalo Bill was present- 
ed by an elegant medal voted by congress 
for his heroici deed. 

The little post was saved. Men, women 
and children of that border post owe their 
lives to a scout who was backed by brav- 
ery, endurance, and determination. 

At this post, too, were a couple of Eng- 
lish gentlemen who were over here to view 
the boundless west, and years afterwards, 
when Buffalo Bill was in England with his 
great show, one of these men, the late Lord 
Harcourt, came to him and in the gather- 
ing of the nobility personally thanked him 
for his brave work, and told the story to 



157 



his friends as they were gathered around 
him. 

It was this recognition which led Eng- 
land's beloved Queen Victoria to personal- 
ly express her thanks to Buffalo Bill, for 
saving a member of the royal family. 

A friend of mine who witnessed tliis 
episode wrote me : 

"I felt proud to see my own country- 
man a king among kings, and towering head 
and shoulders above royalty — a man and 
an American," 



158 




BUFFALO BILL IL 
The Colonel's Grandson. 



159 



BUFFALO BILL IL 

A Chip of the Old Block.— The Grandson of 
Buffalo Bill FolloM's in the Footsteps of His 
Illustrious Grandsire. — A Boy of Nerve. — A 
Terrific Fight with a Wild Boar.— The Hunt- 
ing Knife. — A Faithful Dog. — A Mountain 
Guide. 

Cody Boal, the son of Col. Cody's eldest 
daughter Arta, has born in him the spirit 
of adventure. He would rather take his 
rifle and dog and trail big game than own 
a store or a bank. The call of the wild is 
in his veins, and as I write this the young 
westerner is one of the most reliable Eocky 
mountain guides. He has a string of hunt- 
ing horses and pack mules, and is eagerly 
engaged by hunting parties from the east. 

Like his grand sire, he is a crack shot, 
and seldom fails to bring down the game 
he goes after. At one time, hoAvever, a 
short time ago, he had a terrific knife com- 
bat with a wild boar in the Catalina moun- 
tains. With his favorite hunting dog he 



160 



was out in quest of game, when the dog 
saw and attacked a wild boar. To look at 
a pig, an ordinary pig, you would not ac- 
cuse it of being a game animal or a fighter, 
but take a boar in the wild state, he is ag- 
gressive and dangerous. His jaws are as 
powerful as a vise, and his sharp tusks are 
points of danger. 

The dog a specimen of fine hunting dog, 
nervy and aggressive as a trained bull dog, 
but without the strength of a boar hound 
or bulldog. He tackled the boar, however, 
and so mixed up were they and so swift 
their movements, that the boy feared to 
trust to his rifle for fear of killing his fav- 
orite. Throwing aside his gun he drew his 
hunting knife and after a short but inter- 
esting struggle succeeded in cutting the an- 
imal's throat, though not before he had re- 
ceived some pretty bad gashes himself. 

Taking his dog, the pair of wounded 
partners hobbled into camp, a sorry but 
victorious pair. 

To those of our boy scouts who love a 
faithful dog, I will say that the dog was 
given the best of care and is now as I write 
this, the constant companion of his young 
master. 



161 



A TRAPPER. 

Billj' Stai-ts Out as a Trapper and Hunter of 
Big Game. — An Accident. — A Broken Leg. — 
Falls into the Hands of Indians. — Saved by- 
Chief Rain-in-the-Face. — Starvation in a Dug- 
out. 

Though still what we would call a kid, 
Billy started with a companion, Dan Har- 
rington, went out on a hunting and trap- 
ping expedition along the Eepublican river 
in Kansas, taking a yoke of oxen and 
wagon of supplies. They had excellent 
luck with beavers, and were getting along 
fine, until one of their oxen broke its leg, 
and had to be shot. This left them crippled 
Added to this Billy broke his leg while 
stalking elk, slipping on an icy ledge, and 
falling to the creek below. This rather 
took the tuck out of little Bilty, and he 
begged Harrington to shoot him, and put 
him out of his misery. Harrington, how- 
ever, bandaged up the broken leg, as best 



162 



he could, and fixing Billy up as comfortable 
as possible started for the nearest settle- 
ment about 125 miles away, to get a yoke 
of cattle and return for Billy. With the 
best of luck it would take at least 20 days. 
That was a long time to leave a boy alone 
in a dug-out with broken leg. But there 
was no other way out of it. Before leav- 
ing he gathered plenty of wood, and pro- 
visions were there. So he bade Billy good- 
bye and started on his long walk. As 
Billy told of it afterward, it was a long, 
tiresome wait. On the twelfth day after 
Harrington left, Billy was awakened by 
some one touching him on the shoulder. 
He looked up and saw an Indian in full 
war paint standing by his side. He spoke 
in broken English and Sioux, and asked 
Billy what he was doing there, and how 
many were with him. 

"I told them," said Billy, for by this 
time the dugout was filled with Indians. 

Says Billy, telling about it, and I use 
his language as follows : 

"Then an old Indian came up to me, 
and I recognized Chief Rain-in-the-Face, " 
of the Sioux, whom I had visited at his 
lodge near Ft. Larmie. I showed him my 



163 



broken leg, and asked him if they were go- 
ing to kill me." 

"That is what they intend to do," said 
the chief, "but I will see what they say 
about it." 

"The old chief had a talk with his 
braves, and they concluded to spare the 
life of the 'papoose' but they took my gun 
and revolver, and most of my food, but 
they were good enough to give me some 
after it was cooked." 

However, to make a long story short, 
they went away leaving Billy alone again, 
and it was a long tedious painful wait. 
Snow had fallen and wolves howled and 
scratched at the door of the dug-out, and 
Billy was alone there and without arms of 
any kind to protect him should they enter. 

On the twenty-ninth day, Billy was made 
glad by the voice of Harrington as he yell- 
ed whoa-haw, to his oxen. Billy says he 
simply put his arms around Dave's neck 
and hugged him, so glad was he to see his 
faithful friend. In a few days the furs 
were loaded into the wagon, and the com- 
rades took their slow way to the settlement, 
Billy riding on a bed of 'fur which to-day 
would be worth several thousand dollars. 



164 



They sold tlieir wagon and furs at Junction 
City, and went with a government mule 
train to Leavenworth, where at Cody's 
home, Dave was made a welcome guest. 

Now, you boy Scouts, this is just a chap- 
ter in the life of a boy like yourself, who 
had nerve and endurance. How many of 
you would relish a similar experience? 



165 



PONY EXPRESS. 

The First "Fast Mail" Across the Plains. — 
Fleet Horses and Brave Riders. — Billy a Rider 
of the First Attempt. 

In the early days there was no way to 
get letters across the plains. No telegraph 
lines, nothing but stage coaches. A pony 
express was conceived. "With stations so 
many miles apart, and changes of horses 
for the riders. The express riders were 
selected for their light weight, and their 
reliability. Billy Cody was one of the first, 
and mounted on fleet horses he traveled in 
this service many thousands of miles dur- 
ing his career as pony express rider, and 
most of the time through the hostile Indian 
country. The driver of the slow going stage 
would sight the rider, and call out to his 
passengers: ''Here comes the pony ex- 
press — there he goes," as the intrepid rider 
dashed past the stage at full run. Many 



166 



times Billy was attacked by Indians, but 
his fleet horse, and now and then a well di- 
rected shot, baffled his pursuers. 

Once, however, he came to the end of 
his ride with two Indian arrows sticking 
in him, one of which had pierced his flesh, 
but as luck would have it, the wound was 
not serious, and he made his return trip 
the next day. 

I cannot give in detail the many escapes 
and combats the boy rider had, but, the 
company speak of him as their finest, swift- 
est and most reliable rider — one who never 
missed his time or lost a mail bag, and 
that means a great deal. 

Pony Bob, another express rider, was 
on the line with Billy, and the two were 
warm friends. Years after, when Billy was 
Col. Cody, he secured a good position in the 
east for his frend Pony Bob, and when the 
old veteran of the plains crossed the great 
divide, the Colonel, with his big heart, pro- 
vided for his widow and she in her old age 
is being taken care of to-day in her little 
home in Chicago by the Old Scout. 



167 



WILD BILL. 

A Friend of "The Boy Scout."— He Takes 
Billy's Part When Billy Was Assaulted by a 
Big Bully.— The Starting of a Life Long 
Friendship. 

Wild Bill, or James B. Hickok, his real 
name, was an ideal plainsman. He stood 
about six feet one inch, carrying not an 
ounce of superfluous flesh. He was athlet- 
ic, sinewy and as brave a man as ever be- 
strode a horse. He was not a quarrelsome 
man. He was a dead shot, though never 
presumed on this accomplishment. He has 
killed men, but never in any other spirit 
than the laws of the plains would justify. 
He never bluffed. If he pulled his gun, a 
man was killed. They all knew it, and so 
a word from him settled many a quarrel 
among teamsters. 

One day, a burly teamster in Simpson's 
train slapped Billy Cody, a mere boy, in the 
face. Though but a child about 11 or 12 



168 



years old, Billy jumped to his feet and 
dashed a camp kettle of boiling coffee over 
him. The burly ruffian started for Billy 
in a rage, but Wild Bill promptly knocked 
him down. As soon as he recovered he 
asked Wild Bill what business it was of his. 
''Its my business to protect that boy, or 
anybody else who is beng abused by an 
over-sized brute like you, and I'll lick any 
man who lays a hand on little Billy." 

From this. trip the two became fast 
friends, and in years afterward it came 
Billy's way to pay back the favor in vari- 
'^us ways. Wild Bill was always a wel- 
cf.me visitor at the Cody homestead, and 
the friendship then formed was fast and 
true till the death of Wild Bill, many years 
after the civil war, when he was shot in 
the back by a cowardly cur named McCall, 
who, it pleases me to state, died at the end 
of a rope. 



169 



THE NAME "BUFFALO BILL." 

He Wears the Spurs Who Wins Them.— The 
Name "Buffalo Bill" Contested.— It is Settled 
in the Open Field. — It Lay Between Two 
Warm Friends, Billy Cody and Billy Comstock. 
—Cody Wins in the Buffalo Hunt, and the 
Friends Shake Hands and Were Friends to 
the Last, Till Billy Comstock Crossed the 
Great Divide. 

There are many people who wonder why 
Col. Cody bears the name Buffalo Bill. He 
was recognized as one of the best buffalo 
hunters on the great plains, and for a sea- 
son supplied meat for a large camp of lab- 
orers on the western bound railroad. He 
took the contract and made good, though 
often at the risk of his scalp. The board- 
ing contractors were the Goddard Brothers, 
and it was while in their employ that he 
was first called Buffalo Bill. 

Billy Comstock also a great buffalo 
hunter, contested the name with Cody, and 
although both men were fast friends and 



170 



brave scouts, but one could wear the name, 
&nd be hailed the champion. 

To settle the question of who should be 
the champion buffalo hunter, a match was 
arranged betAveen the two Bills, at a point 
about twenty miles east of Sheridan. It 
was noised abroad and quite a large num- 
ber of spectators were on hand to witness 
the match. An excursion party from St. 
Louis, included many people of prominence 
in both army and civic circles, and among 
them, Codj^'s young wife and baby girl, 
Artsi, who for the first time beheld her hus- 
band in action. 

A referee was appointed for each hunter 
to keep tally on the buffalos killed, and 
these followed the hunters. 

The first run was on good ground with 
a fair bunch of buffalo, and Cody, mount- 
ed on his favorite horse Brigham, rode into 
the herd, and with his rifle, "Lucretia," 
did splendid work, coming out with a rec- 
ord of 38 buffalo to Comstock's 23. On 
the next run, which occurred shortly after, 
the contestants again dashed into the herd 
with the following result : Cody, 18 ; Corn- 
stock, 14. This was the place for a rest, 



171 



and a lunch was spread at which sat all 
the lady and gentlemen spectators. 

, On the next run which took place a 
short time after dinner, Cody told them he 
would ride his horse without saddle or 
bridle. He knew his faithful old Brigham, 
as the prince of buffalo horses, and despite 
the warning and protestations of the spec- 
tators, leaped on his ''naked" horse and 
rode for an approaching herd, this record 
for Cody was 13, the last one of which he 
brought close to the group of spectators 
and dropped the prairie king almost at 
their feet. 

The day's run footed up 69 for Cody 
and 46 for Comstock. 

Billy Comstock approached Cody, and, 
shaking his hand, he said, "Gentlemen and 
ladies, my friend Billy Cody is "Buffalo 
Bill." 

He earned the title he bears. 

# ****** 

Just a word about Billy Comstock : 
Billy Comstock was afterwards murder- 
ed by a treacherous band of Indians. With 
a companion. Sharp Grover, he visited a 
village of Indians who were supposed to be 
peaceable near Big Spring station in west- 



172 



en Kansas, and after spending some time 
with them in friendly conversation, took 
their departure. Before they had gone half 
a mile they were overtaken by the Indians 
and Comstoek was killed and scalped. 
Grover escaped, however, though seriously 
wounded. Billy had a white handled re- 
volver which took the eye of the Indians, 
81)6. it is believed this is what they wanted. 

"When Cody heard of the death of his 
iiiend, he said, "Billy was as good a scout 
as ever crossed the plains, and he was big 
hearted and true. I shall cut many a 
rotch in my rifle to avenge his death." 

And he did. 



173 



"BRIGHAM." 

Buffalo Bill's Favorite Horse. — An Animal With 
the Instincts of the Horse, the Affections of 
a Lover and the Reasoning Powers of a Phil- 
osopher. — Level Headed, Fleet of Foot, and 
True as Steel. 

Sometimes I wonder if horses do not 
have souls. To the plainsman a faithful 
horse is a rare jewel. He will part with his 
coat, his property, his valuables, all save 
his equine partner. 

Between the plainsman and his horses 
there springs up a friendship and fidelity 
to be compared only with the affection of 
a faithful dog. 

Such a horse was the faithful Brigham. 
He was a rare specimen of horseflesh. He 
combined all the traits most sought for in 
a saddle horse. His gait was perfect, his 
muscles firm, his wind good, and more than 
any horse I ever knew, he was equal to 
long distance journeys. Added to this, he 



174 



had brains, and a keen scent, a perfect 
"long distance sight," like his rider. Many 
people have commented on Buffalo Bill's 
"telescopic eyes." "Well, his horse had the 
same. 

Brigham would not be selected for a 
winner at a beauty show. He was not one 
of those curved neck beauties who travel 
with an up and down gait, all day in a 
peck measure. He was a rangy animal, and 
his well shaped head was carried on a level 
with the saddle, But lord, how that horse 
could go ! How his horse instinct told his 
master the presence of the enemy ! How 
he displayed his power of reason and good 
sound judgment by keeping still when in 
the neighborhood of other horses, when 
their first impulse is to whinny ! 

There are a whole lot of human beings 
who don't know when to keep still. 

Brigham was not beautiful. 

Neither was Abraham Lincoln. 

But both had the wisdom of their race. 

Brigham made more long journeys in 
the enemy's country than any other known 
horse. He more than once saved his rider 
by his "horse sense," and his rider had 
the "horse sense" to be governed by the 



175 



opinion of his "four-footed friend and part- 
ner. ' ' 

Brigham was the best buffalo horse on 
the plains. It was "Old Brigham" who 
carried the "Grand Duke Alexis of Russia 
to victory when he killed his first buffalo. 

It was Brigham who, among a bunch of 
high priced thoroughbreds, won the five 
mile race from the race track to Wyan- 
dotte, 

Brigham was not much to look at, but 
with his easy long stride he passed the 
track horses, and made their pedigrees look 
small indeed, compared with this king of 
the western wilds. 

When Brigham got too old for active 
services, he was transferred by Col. Cody 
to his friend, Mr, Wilcox of Memphis, Ten- 
nessee, where he had a good easy time until 
he crossed the great divide, and now rests 
beneath a stone marked 

' ' Brigham. ' ' 



176 




jceand Walter Beardsly, Two Live Wire Scouts, "The Old Scout' 
and the Writer. 



A COUPLE OF BOY SCOUTS. 

Boys of Elkhart, Indiana, Who at Tender Ages 
Are Great Travelers, and were Buffalo Bill's 
Companions on Train. 

Accompanying this we give a snap sliot 
taken at the Clinton, Iowa, depot of the C. 
& N. W. Railway. The Pullman shuts out 
the view of the magnificent structure — the 
Northwestern depot at Clinton, Iowa, of 
which so much has been written and sung. 

The parties in the picture are Col. W. F. 
Cody, D. H. Winget, the writer of this, and 
the boy scouts, Bruce and Walter Beardsley. 
of Elkhart, Indiana, who had captured the 
Colonel on the train and had been pleasant 
traveling companions en route from a west- 
ern trip to their home in Indiana, 

The Colonel is a great lover of boys, and 
took a great interest in this pair of live 
wires. We are indebted to Major Beardsley 
their father, for the picture from which 
the cut was made. 



177 



CODY IN CIVIC ACTION. 

How He Handles Commercial Clubs. — The Way 
To Do Things.— Do them and Don't Talk About 
Them. 

A short time ago, (year 1912), Col. Cody 
was in a town where he had real estate 
interests. The commercial club, composed 
of the leading citizens, had been meeting 
from time to time discussing the problem 
of waterworks. Eesolutions were passed, 
committees appointed to raise the money, 
and other business drawn on paper. That 
was all. All talk. All resolutions. 

While the Colonel was on his vacation, 
he was in this city. A meeting of the club 
was held, and the same routine of talk and 
resolutions, was the order of the evening. 
The committees reported progress, etc. 

How much money have you raised," ask- 
ed the Colonel. 

"None, so far," was the reply, "We 



178 



hoped you would show us the way out of 
it," said one member. 

This particular meeting was held in Col. 
Cody's rooms at his hotel. 

''Now, gentlemen," said the Colonel, 
"you are all property owners in this little 
city. So am I. You all want your proper- 
ty to increase in value. So do I. Now, 
I'll show you how it can be done." And 
he stepped to the door and locked it. 

"Now gentlemen," said he, as he seat- 
ed himself at the table. "Here's my check 
for a thousand dollars, and I shall expect 
every man here to turn over to the secre- 
tary his check for a like amount before he 
leaves the room, for you can all afford it. 
Your property interests are as large or 
larger than mine. So gentlemen go to it, 
and we'll have the waterworks. Its the 
only way to do things. Do them first and 
then pass resolutions. You can't raise any- 
thing until you first dig. Now, gentlemen, 
dig, and plant your money and give it a 
chance to grow." 

The men laughed at the novel talk of the 
Colonel, but, as he backed his opinion with 
money, they fell in line and did the same, 
and as I write, work— real work — is being 



179 



done on an up-to-date waterworks system 

for this thriving little city of the North- 
west. 

****** * 

Another town in which Col. Cody has 
interests wanted a beet sugar factory. The 
towns people could not land it. While the 
Colonel was there on a visit the proposition 
was put before him. He at once got in cor- 
respondence with a large manufacturing 
firm in the beet sugar industry. They 
promised him if he would guarantee the 
output of 5000 acres of sugar beets, they 
would put in a factory. The day after re- 
ceiving this letter, he in company with an- 
other citizen of the town mounted their 
horses and went on a tour among the farm- 
ing people of the district, and in two days 
returned with signed contracts for 12,000 
acres. 

The factory is being built, and as the 
town is on the line of the Burlington route, 
it means ready market and good shipping 
facilities. 

These two sketches only show what one 
man can do if he starts something and leads 
it. The world is full of followers, but lead- 
ers are few. 



180 



LE CLAIRE. 

Eirth Place of Buffalo Bill, and of President 
Brown of the Vanderbilt System, and the 
Home of the Celebrated "Le Claire Elm," 
Said to be the Most Perfect and symmetric- 
al Tree in the United States. 

If the modest little town of LeClaire^ 
Iowa, on the banks of the Mississippi never 
takes on a boom and gets into the limelight 
in the commercial world, she still has her 
place on the map, as the birth place of 
Buffalo Bill, and is the town where Hon. 
W. C. Brown, president of the New York 
Central Kailroad was born. Both these 
boys have grown to manhood, and preserv- 
ed the same hardy undaunted spirit of their 
pioneer ancestors. 

They were both born poor boys and 
started in life without a pull, and by their 
own unaided efforts have carved out their 
own way to fortune and to fame. 

Mr. Brown taught the efete east how to 



181 



do things. He pioneered or pushed into 
the maizes of big business, and became a 
great Captain of industry. With him it 
was not a leap to the top of the ladder. He 
did not bound to the driver's seat and take 
the reins of that mighty business. It was 
his motto to work. There was no job too 
small for him to start on, and with every 
job he got he learned a higher lesson in 
the school of life. 

Mr. Brown was not born with a silver 
spoon in his mouth, but what is far better, 
he had the good red bounding blood of the 
west — the blood of pioneers, of a father and 
mother who looked the setting sun in the 
face and dared to follow its call to the new 
country beyond the Mississippi. 

Here they settled and here they reared 
their humble western shack, and with other 
pioneers, did their share towards the re- 
clamation of the west from its savage na- 
ture. 

Here on the banks of the Mississippi, a 
future captain of industry first saw the 
light. Right in the little settlement of Le 
Claire, washed on the east by the swift 
running Father of Waters, and backed by 
the rounding timbered hills which line its 



182 



banks, he was a boy, who from childhood 
up, lived with a purpose. Step by step he 
accomplished things, at first the work or 
play of childhood, and as he surmounted 
one obstacle, reached out for the next to 
conquor. His school days were passed in 
the primative western school. A slab of 
lumber for a seat, and the simplest sur- 
roundings, withstanding the lure of the fish- 
ing rod, or the seductive call of Bob White, 
till after school hours. 

Like Billy Cody, he was a born leader, 
and while Cody in his conquoring went to 
the further western wilds, Billy Brown 
found that the east needed a conquorer in 
certain lines, and true to his native born, 
principles went after it. 

If the great president of railroads reads 
this, sketched in primitive style, just 16 
miles from his birth place, he may smile 
and poof-poof. Then, he will light another 
of those big cigars and as he lies back in 
the easy chair in his sumptuous apart- 
ments in New York City, the smoke in its 
convolutions will form memory pictures. 
It will take him back to LeClaire, it will 
paint for him pictures possible to no other 
artist, faces long forgotten will appear, he 



183 



will call names he has not spoken for years. 

See that barefoot boy going past with 
the fishing rod, the cows coming home, the 
tinkle of the cow bell just up on the hill. 
The boys gathering place under the spread- 
ing elm. Billy, the elm is all that is left of 
the old crowd, save one or two people who 
liave grown gray as the elm has grown 
green, but many of our old friends are 
there still. Yes, still. Their voices have 
long been hushed and a stone marks tht;ir 
j-e.stxng place. 

Little old LeClaire still holds out a wel- 
come for her two Billys — one who wander- 
ed west and one who wandered east. 

Ain't ye comin' home, boys?" 



184 



THE PIPE OP PEACE. 

How It is Made. — What is Necessary For Its 
Component Parts. — Who Shall Make it, and 
Why. — As War and Death Precedes Peace, so 
Must These both Be Embodied in the Pipe of 
Peace. — It Must be Wrought by a Loyal Maid- 
en of the Tribe. — When It Passes From the 
Chief, It is a Pledge of Life Long Friendship. 
— A Symbol of "You Are My Brother." — Buffa- 
lo Bill Says, "Let's Be Indians." — What It 
Means to the Writer. 

Few and far between are the genuine 
Peace Pipes, Many to-day are sold as 
souvenirs by unscrupulous Indian traders, 
but they are the handiwork of the white 
man. If all the alleged Peace Pipes in the 
curio market to-day, or bought by ignorant 
souvenir collectors were genuine, they 
would represent the death of many a hu- 
man being red or white. 

A genuine Peace Pipe. 

A genuine Peace Pipe must have a his- 
tory — a pre-natal history. Before it was 



185 



fashioned into a Pipe of Peace, 
it must have been in part an 
instrument of war — of death. 
The long, harmless looking 
hickory stem must have at 
one time been a bow in the 
hands of an Indian brave, and 
of the tribe for which the Peace 
Pipe is designed. It must have 
sent a death dealing arrow to 
the heart of an enemy. The 
bow thus honored is placed in- 
to the hands of an Indian girl 
— unmarried, and preferably the 
daughter of a chief. To her is 
instrusted the honor, (for it is 
so regarded) of making the 
tribal Peace Pipe. The hickory 
is burned through from end to 
end for the stem. This is a 
delicate and slow process. The 
bow is cut to the proper length 
and polished — not with sand 
paper, but by scraping and 
buffing with buffalo hide un- 
til it is smooth as agate. The 
bowl is deftly moulded and 
hewn from pipe clay, found 




186 



in the hills and water 
courses of the mountains. 
It is brought to a high 
polish by constant rubbing 
with buffalo skin. All is 
hand work, and the work 
only of the chieftain's 
unmarried daughter. 

The tobacco pouch is a 
bag made of buffalo skin 
tanned by the Indian 
maiden, the buffalo hav- 
ing been killed by a young 
buck of tlie tribe. 

It is profusely decor- 
ated with beads fashioned 
in the pattern best known 
to that particular tribe. 
The tribal Peace Pipe is 
one of the most valuable 
treasures of the Indian. 
It represents , the honor 
and esteem of his trib',' 
and woven into its manu- 
facture it tells the love 
of his daughter or the 
loyalty and esteem of an 




Indian maiden. 



187 



It is the type of friendship. Its language 
is the death of enemies and the survival of 
friends. The bestowal of a Peace Pipe 
means a pledge of friendship, and rarely 
during the life of a chief does the Peace 
Pipe change hands. It means much. 

Many years ago, a Peace Pipe changed 
hands, and perhaps this is the only time in 
history where an Indian has given it to a 
white man. 

As I write these lines I am smoking that 
historical pipe. I am all alone, but as I 
follow the convolutions of smoke, I see 
fashioned faces of long ago. I see the wig- 
wams of the red men, as they dot the 
prairie, I see herds of their ponies, grazing 
here and there in bunches, far far beyond 
where prairie and sky meet, I see a bound- 
ing herd of buffalo, bound for a water 
course, around me the soft wind billows 
the tall prairie grass, and chants the vesper 
song to the Great Spirit. Here again is the 
face of Mi-lo-Ka-ha, the daughter of the 
chief, her long raven locks reaching far be- 
low her beaded belt , caught back by a 
thong or band of deer skin beaded and col- 
ored with the crimson juice of the red 
plant known to us as Indian paint. The 



188 



smoke wreath forms other shapes and out of 
the cloud looks down on me the face of my 
friend ''Pahaska." Yes in these wreaths 
of smoke — dream smoke, I find my friend 
Buffalo Bill. 

It is the spirit of the gift. It is the pro- 
cession" of those who have had to do with 
this Pipe of Peace. Now the smoke wreaths 
are joined; they form another face — a body 
— a stalwart chief, though aged as we count 
years, lithe straight, sinewy, but with a 
kindly face. I note the smile of the great 
Red -Cloud. The friend of Buffalo Bill. 

I have told before what the transfer of 
a Peace Pipe means. It is to his best 
friend, the great chieftain gave this pipe, 
and to "Pahaska," Buffalo Bill, it was 
given — a lasting treaty of peace between 
the two. The grand old chief did not live 
long after, but it was his satisfaction to 
have remembered his white friend and ally 
before he passed to the happy hunting 
ground and the death song was chanted by 
his tribe. 

How did I get it? 

Listen. 

At 10 o'clock August 4, 1911, when Buf- 
falo Bill was in our city with his great show 



189 



on his farewell tour, he came to my office 
and sat at my desk just where I am sitting 
as I write this. 

His eye was as clear and piercing as 
in the halcyon days of yore when we were 
boy pards. His hand as steady, as when he 
pulled the trigger for a shot which told. 

"Pard," said he, ''We're getting pretty 
well along in years. "We have lived in 
times when history was made. Where the 
boys of the west rode at will on their 
ponies, big farms and wire fences have 
found place, and the long dreary cattle 
trails to the setting sun have given way 
to the bands of steel and the iron horses. 
Well pard, we have the satisfaction that we 
were there first. But we're getting old — we 
must soon cross the great divide. 

''You know the meaning of the Peace 
Pipe. You know how much it indicates 
when given to a friend. You realize its 
full meaning? Of course you do. 

"We have been 'pards' for over half 
a century, we have never lessened our 
friendship. It is as warm to-day as then. 
Time or distance has not dimmed it. And . 
now pard," said he as he unrolled a paper. 
"Lets be Indians." 



190 



And he handed me the Peace Pipe, and 
tobacco pouch. 

******* 

Time may use me rough, I may even 
be hungry, but so long as I live I will re- 
tain that memento of my friend, which in 
the language and legend of our red brother 
means so much. 

At my death it shall pass with all its 
aboriginal meaning to a friend whom I 
shall call here, Al, who selected from the 
world at large is the one to receive it from 
me. 



191 



"AND A PROTESTANT, TOO!" 

Billy Helps Little Matt Malone Out of a Scrape 
And Rescues His Rosary From the Tough 
Gang. 

Little Matt. Malone, one of our neighbor 
boys of Irish extraction was set upon by a 
gang of levee roughs, who not only abused 
the little fellow, but took from him his 
"beads" as they called it, but it was his 
rosary and highly prized by him. 

Billy went in and licked the bully, and 
rescued little Matt. 

"The dirty divil has me rosary," said 
Matt. 

"What's a rosary?" said Billy. 

We told Billy what it was and he went 
to the bully and made him hand over "that 
string of beads, and do it quick, too." The 
bully, now recovered from the last punch 
Billy gave him, showed signs of fight, and 
Billy recognizing the sign, went at him and 



192 



gave him such a licking as he remembers 
to-day, if he still lives. He got the "beads" 
and though they were broken in the strug- 
gle, and the crucifix separated from the 
rest, he returned them to poor little JMatt. 

His mother telling of the affray to the 
neighbors and Sisters of Charity, spoke 
very highly of Billy, and at the end of each 
sentence she said: "And a Protestant Bye, 
ioo! Think of that." 

As I look back at it, I have to laugh as 
I recall Billy's words as he punched the 
bully. 

"Gimme that picture of Jesus, gimme 
that picture of Jesus." 

This he repeated as he punched the 
bully, until it was finally handed him, and 
Billy returned the little metal image of the 
Saviour to little Matt. 

Billy was not ciuarrelsome, and I never 
knew him to get into a mixup on his own 
account. He was at all times ready to take 
up the wrong of somebody else, and as a 
rule all his litle fracases were ready made 
for him, and he jumped into it and clean- 
ed it up. 

Bravery is not confined alone to killing 
Indians, to taking up the fights of other 



193 



boys, or to fighting in general, but it 
reaches farther and deeper than all these. 

It means to defend the right as God 
gives you to see the right. It means for 
boy scouts or men scouts who profess to be 
brave, to ally their forces with the right, to 
take the part of the poor and weak in all 
cases, as for instance the nature of the 
''Old Scout" in private life. Let us see 
how this figures out : 

The deadly bow and poisoned arrow are 
of the past. The bow string is broken; the 
arrows repose in their quiver as they hang 
on the wall of the lodge. The rifle no long- 
er responds to the deadly aim and unerring 
trigger of the Indian fighter. The buffalo 
no longer roams the prairie. The trackless 
plains have been grid ironed by the steel 
pathway of the avenues of commerce. Our 
country has been captured from savagery 
and has succumbed to civilization. 

But still there's room for bravery, chiv- 
alry and scouting. Has the "Old Scout" 
lost his nature? Has he ceased to take up 
the fights and right the wrongs of tlie op- 
pressed? 

In his everyday life he sees oportuni- 



194 



ties to help the poor and take up the cause 
of the under dog in the battle of life. 

See him in the arena, placing history be- 
fore you. See him in action in the mimic 
warfare of the Wild West. See him as he 
proudly rides at the head of the rough rid- 
ers of the world and introduces to you the 
Congress of Rough Riders. 

But behind the scenes. He is a busy 
man. In his tent while the big show is go- 
ing on, he is answering telegrams, letters, 
etc., and keeping in touch with his private 
work all over the country. Here is a let- 
ter authorizing his bank in this or that city 

to see that old ]\Ir. a veteran of the 

plains has the comforts of life. Here goes 
his draft out to the widow of Pony Bob 
in Chicago, to ease her declining years. 
Here a letter of good cheer to this or that 
friend in an isolated village away in the 
west, the south or east. Here a donation 
for charity to be handled by friends whom 
he knows he can trust. Here a letter to a 
Commercial Club, in this or that city where 
he has interests, and all, yes all, are writ- 
ten in a spirit of chivalry in many instances 
backed by the weapon of cash, to drive the 
wolf from the door, or bolster up an un- 



195 



fortunate friend who's "pulling hard 
against the stream." 

If Buffalo Bill dies a poor man, it will 
not be for the reason that he has not made 
money, but because of the open hand of 
generous charity which has characterized 
his life from boyhood. 

Many times in our boyhood has Billy led 
the "clan" around with saws and axes to 
the home of this or that poor old couple or 
widow, to get in their winter wood. Many 
a time have we made war on the timber 
and hauled to the homes of these unfortun- 
ate, cords of wood. And all this suggested 
by Billy, who as our recognized leader nev- 
er said "go and do" this or that, but 
"Let us go and do it." 

An old lady lay sick. She was poor. 
Billy took up her case, and in school told 
all about her misfortune. He grew inter- 
ested in his talk and, while I've heard him 
try to speak "The Boy Stood on the Burn- 
ing Deck," he never spoke so well, nor so 
eloquently as when he was telling the story 
of that poor old Irish lady. 

"Mr. Quantrell," said he, for it was 
the Quantrell who afterwards became the 
notorious outlaw who led the massacre at 



196 



Lawrence, Kansas, who was our teacher. 
''Mr. Quantrell, may I pass the hat?" 

"Certainly Billy," said he, "and here's 
a dollar to start yon off." 

Billy took his hat, went down into his 
own pocket first, and when our teacher put 
in his dollar it struck another piece of coin. 
The hat was passed, and the dimes and 
quarters showed a goodly spirit in the 
school children (there were no pennies 
there) . 

Again the same spirit of eJnvalry came 
to the front when he started a contribution 
for a poor woman and her children out in 
a mining camp, a reference to which is 
made in the little verse on pages 119 to 128 
in this book. 

But these are only a few of many cases. 
As I say, if Buffalo Bill dies a poor man, 
it is because he delighted in the game of 
"Help your neighbor" and I am not so sure 
but that he will even in this life realize the 
full meaning of the verse in our Saviour's 
teaching, "He that giveth unto the poor 
lendeth unto the Lord." 

Boys, can you be the same kind of true 
blue "Cody Scouts"? 



197 



ANOTHER "BILLY." 

William C. Brown, President of the New York 
Central Lines An Iowa Boy, From the Vil- 
lage of Buffalo Bill's Nativity and the Home 
of the "Green Tree." — A Story of What An 
Iowa Boy Did and What Our Boys Should 
Should Strive For. 

A few pages back we have alluded brief- 
ly to another LeClaire, Iowa, boy, from the 
town of iiilly Cody. This man, too, was at 
that time "Billy." Since the pages I speak 
of were printed, I have fortunately been 
able to gather facts bout this Iowa boy, 
captain of industry. Feeling it too good a 
lesson to lose, I present it to our boy scout 
readers. 

It is a long, hard climb from section 
hand on a railroad to the most responsible 
positions on one of the greatest railroad 
systems in this or any other country, but 



198 



an Iowa boy lias nioiinted every rung in 
the ladder. 

Mr. William C. Brown is a living ex- 
ample of the eternal fact that there is no 
boy anywhere who is so poor and so lacking 
in ready-made opportunity that he cannot 
climb to the top. It was a hard fight and 
a long one, but he stuck to it unswervingly 
and finally achieved success. The story of 
his rise reads like a romance, and should 
be a lesson and an inspiration to every boy 
scout today. 

Born in Herliimer County, New York, 
on July 29tli, 1853, he came to Iowa at the 
age of three years, when his father, a Bap- 
tist minister, sent out by the Home Mission- 
ary Society, continued a noble, self-sacrific- 
ing service of more than forty years among 
struggling churches of that state. 

In 1869, when sixteen years of age, he 
entered the service of the Chicago, Mil- 
waukee & St. Paul as a section hand; and 
the work recpiired of a section hand at that 
time was a good deal harder than it is to- 
day, especially the work of heaving cord- 
wood onto a locomotive tender, euphonis- 
tically called "wooding engines," to which 
he was at first assigned. 



199 



During his spare time and in the eve- 
ning, young Brown helped the station agent 
with odd jobs, practiced on the telegraph 
instrument, making himself generally use- 
ful and picking up every scrap of informa- 
tion concerning the business upon which he 
had entered, so that in another year he had 
become a proficient telegraph operator. 
Within half-a-dozen years he had risen to 
the position of Train Despatcher on the 
Chicago, Burlington & Quincy Kailroad. 

An occurance, while he occupied this posi- 
tion at Burlington, Iowa, throws a strong 
side-light on his character; and the story, 
as told many years afterward, by Mr. T. 
J. Potter, when he was Vice-President of 
the Union Pacific, in a way condenses Mr. 
Brown's entire railroad history and re- 
veals the underlying reason foi* his success- 
ful career. 

Before going to the Union Pacific, Mr. 
Potter was for many years General Man- 
ager of the Burlington System, in which 
Mr. Brown was working his way to the top. 

"I'll bet," said Mr. Potter, one day in 
Chicago, ''Brown doesn't know what first 
attracted my attention to him, and gave 
his real start to preferment in the Burling- 



200 




W. C. BROWN 

President of the New York Central R. R. 



ton company. It was a very little thing 
in a way. "Along in the winter of 1877-78, 
we had a succession of fierce snowstorms, 
blockades, and all sorts of trouble. One 
Sunday night there was a i)artieular]y 
heavy storm, and as the wind Avhistied 
about the house and the snow beat against 
the windows it wakened me, and I slept 
very little from that time until it was time 
to get up in the morning, thinking of the 
probable conditions of things on the road. 
I went to the office unusually early, and 
just as I reached the office; door I saw 
Jerry Hosford, then superintendent of 
stock yards, wading thrpug^h the snow, com- 
ing up from the direction of the river. He 
had evidently come across the ice from the 
stock yards at East Burling-tdii. 

"I noticed a young fellow trudging in 
the snow beside Hosford, who bade him 
'good morning' just before he reached the 
office door, and started up the street. 

"After inquiring of Hosford in regard 
to conditions during the night, and being 
informed that three or four hundred car- 
loads of stock were comfortably housed in 
the pens and sheds at East Burlington, 1 



201 



said to liim, 'Who was that young fellow 
who came over with you?' 

" 'His name is Brown,' said Hosford, 
'he's one of the train despatchers. His 
trick is from four o'clock in the afternoon 
until midnight; but when he was relieved 
last nig 'it the storm was at its worst, and 
it seemed doubtful if we were going to be 
able to get the stock through and unload- 
ed at the yards; so instead of going home 
and going to bed when his regular work 
ended, he volunteered to help me abou't my 
work, and I don't know how I'd have got 
along without him.' 

"I made a note of Brown, right then 
and there," said Mr. Potter, "for that, I 
thought, was the kind of man it was to the 
company's interest to push along. But he 
didn't want pushing. All Brown ever 
wanted was a chance. He furnished the 
motive power himself." 

In 1880 Mr. Brown was a chief despateh- 
er; another year and he was train-master 
and three years later he was superintendent. 

During the famous strike of '88, as su- 
perintendent of the Iowa Lines, Mr. Brown 
was in the thick of the fight ; and near the 
close of that eventful struggle, when a 



202 



mail train was abaudoned at Burlington, 
Iowa, he was on the ground ready to solve- 
the problem. Another train, running in 
the opposite direction had been abandoned 
at Galesburg, Illinois. The predicament 
was puzzling and staring him in the face 
were the mails, with the consequent for- 
feits for delay, to say nothing of the pas- 
sengers and an acknowledged victory for 
the strikers. 

"I'll take her through if you'll go with 
me. Jack," said superintendent Brown to 
his trainmaster. 

No sooner had the words l)een spoken 
than he was in the right side of the cab. 
That run has gone dov/n in the history of 
the road as a "Corker." 

Arriving at Galesburg, Brown took the 
engineer's seat in the other mail train and 
brought the second one to Burlington. 
Where were the strikers? They were.every- 
where in evidence; but the superintendent 
was not interfered with, — the strikers 
liked him, for he was always a square man. 

In 1890, Mr. Brown became General 
IManager of the Burlington lines in Miss- 
ouri with headquarters in St. Joseph, Miss- 
ouri. It was here that he had the exper- 



203 



ience which gives him the unique distinc- 
tion of being the only railroad official in 
the east who ever trapped a band of train 
robbers in the west. 

In the autumn of 1892, in addition to 
his duties as General Manager of the Miss- 
ouri lines, Mr. Brown was also vice- presi- 
dent of the Missouri Valley Fair Associa- 
tion which annually drew large crowds fron 
the adjacent counties of three states to see 
its exhibits. 

The "big day" of the fair in that year 
was the greatest in the history of the Asso- 
ciation and the receipts exceeded all others. 

At that time scattered bands of mount- 
ed robbers still infested the Missouri and 
Kansas borders, made up of remnants of 
the "bush-whackers" and "jayhawkers" 
which were the outgrowth of the Civil War. 

A plan by one of these organizations, to 
ride down upon the "gate money" of the 
fair, came to the knowledge of Mr. Brown 
who Avith the treasurer had the treasury 
box hurriedly- removed to the bank in the 
city, so that the scheme was neatly foiled. 
Defeated in this, the band entered upon a 
campaign of waylaying and plundering rail- 
road trains in that section. 



204 



A short time afterward, while the Sun- 
day evening church bells were ringing over 
the city, two rough looking strangers 
knocked on the side door of the Brown res- 
idence. Mr. Brown, answering the knock 
himself, was met with the unusual ques- 
tion of whether he was alone, but neverthe- 
less invited the visitors to come in. The 
suspicious circumstances of the visit were 
further heightened by the leader asking 
Mr. Brown to lower the curtains of the 
window as they might have been followed 
and they did not wish to be seen there. 

The spokesman then informed Mr. 
Brown that his most important express 
train, known as ''No. 3," would be held up 
that very night at a lonely and heavily 
wooded point, known locally by railroad 
men as "-Roy/s Branch," only a short dis- 
tance from the city. He added that a few 
nights before the gang had intended to hold 
up the same train and loot the express car 
at that identical spot, but were frustrated. 
This was because No. 17, which usual'y 
left St. Joseph ahead of No. 3, being late 
that evening was preceeded by No. 3, and 
they did not discover this until No. 3 had 
passed the spot. 



205 



Mr. Brown tried to persuade them to 
give up their part in the enterprise ; but 
they refused, stating they were so far com- 
mitted to it that their lives would be for- 
feited if the band suspected them of hav- 
ing 'Sveakened," and they then departed. 

While the circumstances connected with 
this visit and the story as related were of 
a highly suspicious nature, there remained 
but one hour until No. 3 was due to de- 
part from the Union Station. Mr. Brown, 
with the quix3k decision and energy which 
has always been his chief characteristic, 
marking him as a leader in any emergency, 
immediately called up Sheriff "Charlie" 
Carsson, Chief of Police John Broder, who 
was an ex-Confederate soldier with a war 
record and Superintendent "Mike" Hohl, 
and asked them to meet in his office. 

While thus telephoning, the wires be- 
came crossed and he heard a strange voice 
calling the dispatcher and ask: "Will No. 
17 be ahead of No. 3 tonight"; and, as he 
ascertained from the operator that the call 
was made from a drug store in a remote 
part of the city, the occurrence strongly 
emphasized the story which he had heard 
only a few minutes before of the failure of 

206 



a previous attempt to hold up this train. 

To have sent No. 3 out on its regular 
schedule would have imperiled the lives of 
many passengers, for a fight was surely in 
prospect. For this reason General Manager 
Brown issued the following order: "Hold 
No. 3 at the Union Station until further or- 
ders. Make up 'dummy' to go out on No. 
3's time." 

This order was quickly and quietly exe- 
cuted. The dummy train consisting of an' 
engine, an express car, a smoking car and 
two Pullman cars, was assembled, two em- 
pty piano boxes were placed in the express 
ear and in them a number of deputy 
sheriffs were concealed. The dummy train, 
with General Manager Brown in personal 
charge, departed from the Union Station 
on schedule time, while No. 3 was held un- 
til the fate of the expedition iiad been de- 
termined. 

Up along the river, past Dug Hill, 
around Black Snake Bluffs, sped the train; 
and, as the head light illuminated the thick- 
ets of Eoy's Branch, a red lantern swung 
across the track. The train stopped, band- 
its "covered" the engineer and fireman 
and ordered the opening of the express car 



207 



under threat of blowing it open with dyn- 
mite. But instead of finding the plunder 
which they had expected, they were given 
a surprise in the form of a short but decis- 
ive fight by the officers of the law conceal- 
ed within the piano boxes and scattered at 
vantage points about the train. The action 
was conclusive. Two robbers were kill- 
ed, two were caputred and a fifth was so 
badly wounded that he was captured the 
next day. 

The "haul" w^as so large and important 
that the news traveled the world over. By 
that night's work, Mr. Brown eliminated 
a dangerous gang of train robbers and 
bold highwaymen which had infested that 
section of the country, thereby rendering 
railway travel, not only in Missouri but 
throughout the west, safer for all future 
time. 

, In January, 1896, Mr. Brown became 
General Manager of hte Chicago, Burling- 
ton & Quincy Railroad with headquarters at 
Chicago; and left that company in Febru- 
ary, 1902, to become Vice-President and 
General Manager of the Lake Shore & 
Michigan Southern Kailway. Following 
that he was successively Vice-President, 



208 



and in February, 1909, became President of 
the New York Central Lines, so that now 
he occupies that most responsible position 
at the head of a system of railroads extend- 
ing 12,270 miles in length through nine 
states and with an army of employes num- 
bering 160,000. 

This brief outline indicates the succes- 
sive steps in ]\Ir. Brown's remarkable rise 
and furnishes an object lesson to every 
aspiring youth, no matter how humble his 
beginning may be or hard his path appears 
to be beset by adverse circumstances. But 
to benefit from his exmaple, sight must not 
be lost of the principles which made his 
success possible. 

Mr. Brown can hardlj- be called an ideal- 
ist, especially in the sense of being a 
dreamer, and least of all a visionary. He 
believes in working until one's opportunity 
arrives and then promptly and vigorously 
seizing hold of it, as opposed to selecting 
a high ideal— a distant vision — and con- 
tinually striving after it to the neglect of 
the work at hand. 

This practice marked him as the man to 
be depended upon under all circumstances 
and on innumerable occasions character- 



209 



ized him as the man "on the spot." 

When recently asked what he consider- 
ed the most important factor in his ad- 
vancement, Mr. Brown made the following 
characteristic reply : 

"Just sticking' at it,'"' he said, "and 
making a business of my business, filling 
every job I got as well as I knew 
how. I think that under present con- 
ditions, and perhaps under any con- 
ditions, it is more or less of a mistake to 
preach to young men that they should fix 
for themselves a specific goal, and strive 
toward it, keep it eternally in sight, and 
never let anything distract their attention 
from it. If a fellow sets out with that 
idea he is apt to become an office politic- 
ian, and he wastes more time figuring how 
he is going to get the step over somebody 
else than he expends in attending to the 
business in hand. 

"The thing is to bend every energy in 
him to doing today, as well as it can be 
done, what he has to do. The man who does 
that needn't worry about promotion. He 
doesn't have to look or scheme for promo- 
tion. Promotion will look for him. There is 
too much to be done for any man to be 



210 



overlooked who is able to turn to and do it, 
and who is willing to do it. Willingness is 
a big item. It is positively essential that 
a man be on good terms with his job, even 
if it isn't all he "would like it to be, and 
that he should make every day's work the 
very best day's work he can do. The 
switchman who is forever thinking how 
much better yardmaster he would make 
than the man who has the job over him is 
hurting his chance of being a yardmaster, 
if he only knew it, because he is diminish- 
ing his efficiency, and it's efficiency that 
counts. 

"A man does better simply to apply 
himself to every day's duty as it comes 
along. In that way he misses nothing, he 
masters his position, and fits himself for 
a bigger one quicker than he could by any 
other means; and as for advancement, it 
will come looking for him, because, as I 
said before, there is a vast demand for 
competent men in the high positions. 

"Just look over the field; the fact is 
that there is more wealth in the country 
today than ever before, and the opportuni- 
ties are correspondingly greater. Why, as 
railroading is done nowadays, there are 



211 



more superintendents than there were con- 
ductors when I started, and more general 
managers now than there were superinten- 
dents then. Now if you take a correspond- 
ing increase in all the other grades you 
will get some idea of the magnitude of the 
business and the chance it offers. Do you 
realize that out of the 90,000,000 popula- 
tion that the United States are credited 
with, pproximately one-fortieth part to- 
day is composed of men employed by rail- 
roads; and that the wages to each man, are 
double, those paid thirty years ago for the 
same hours of work? That means a great 
deal to the boys who are starting out to- 
day. 

"Another factor that makes for rapid 
promotion for young men nowadays, is that 
the conditions wear men out quicker. The 
tension is greater, necessarily, as the media 
ism grows bigger and more complicated. 
Men used to stay in a job until they were 
simply played out, and in some cases act- 
ually died of old age while still in the ser- 
vice. They cannot do that now, because 
the older men have to make way for the 
younger men at a very much earlier age 
than formerly." 



212 



LITTLE KIT. 

Buaffalo Bill's Son, Kit Carson Cody, a Welcome 
Heir, and a Splendid Boy. 

I have often been asked: "Has Coi. 
Cody a son?" 

No. the Colonel has not a son. A boy 
was born to him and his wife years ago. 
The little one came to his home in the fall 
of 1870 I think it was, the idol of a happy 
home. 

The happy father was far out in the 
west, scouting for the government when 
the news reached him. Many names were 
suggested for the little stranger, but the 
one suggested by Major Brown, that he be 
named after the old scout and frontiers- 
man "Kit Carson," was chosen, and the 
young man was christened "'Kit Carson 
Cody." 

He had the many loveable traits of his 
charming mother, the clear truthful eye of 
his father, and bade fair to follow early in 



213 



the footsteps of his illustrious sire. Such 
was not to be, however, for a telegram 
reached Col. Cody in a distant city, that 
Kit, his Kit, his six year old boy, lay clan- 
gerouly ill at Rochester, New York. 

The Colonel who was at that time (1876) 
with his dramatic troupe at Springfield, 
Mass., left the stage and made all possible 
haste to the bedside of his son. The play 
was just starting for the evening, and Col. 
Cody sent for his business manager, Major 
John Burke, and showed him the telegram, 
and told him he would finish the first act 
but the Major must finish the play, and 
make excuse to the audience 

He took the first train for Kochester 
and arrived there to find his beautiful boy 
in the throes of scarlet fever. However he 
seemed to recognize his father, and putting 
liis little arms lovingly around his neck 
tried to kiss him. 

All that medical science and faithful 
work could do was in vain, and his beloved 
little Kit died in his arms at 6 o'clock that 
evening. 

But I'll not tear open the wound in my 
friend's big loving heart. We will leave 
him alone with his boy, Little Kit. 



214 



In Mount Hope, the beautiful city of the 
dead, the body of Little Kit was laid ten- 
derly away, but through the long vista of 
years a childish voice comes to the Old 
Scout, "I'm waiting for you, Father." 



215 



A MILLIONAIRE. 

Buffalo Bill Starts the City of Rome, Kansas.— 
A Railroad Company Tries To Get in the 
Game, But is Refused, So They Start a Town 
Further on, and Rome Melts Away. — Nero Fid- 
dled While Rome Was Burning. — Cody Couldn't 
Play the Fiddle, But He Lost Rome, the Same 
as Nero Did, and Hayes City, Kansas, is the 
Result.— But His Next Attempt Was Success- 
ful, and the Beautiful City of Cody, Wyoming, 
is the Result. 

AYhen Buffalo Bill comes with his great 
shoAv to the city, he owns the town. All 
people turn out to greet the celebrated 
scout. 

Cody once owned a real town put west. 
It was in the days when the Kansas Pacific 
Eailroad was pushing forward, and he, a 
buffalo hunter, was furnishing the meat 
for the workmen. One of his companions 
and he conceived the idea of starting a 
town. They staked out lots, built a gener- 
al store in crude primitive style and put in 



216 



a stock of goods such as would be used by 
the people of the border. Quite a number 
of buildings were erected and their scheme 
promised to make them rich. 

In a short time a man named Webb 
came along, and wanted to get in on the 
deal, but Cody and his partner thought 
they had too good a thing to divide up. 
They declined his offer. It developed that 
he was the land agent of the Kansas Paci- 
fic Railroad, and he had the road locate 
another town a few miles beyond, at w^hieh 
the trains would stop. 

This settled the town of Rome, as the 
new town was named, for those who had 
settled there moved their buildings a few 
miles further along to the new town, which 
is to-day known as Hayes City. That is one 
time that Cody was a millionaire for a 
short time. He stood pat, however, even 
if he did lose Rome. Nero didn't have any- 
thing over Buffalo Bill, for ancient history 
tells us that he lost Rome, too. 

He made another attempt in later days 
to start a town, and the result is the beau- 
tiful and flourishing city of Cody, Wyoming, 
the eastern gateway of the National Park, 
and one of the most progressive and boom- 



217 



ing towns of the great northwest. It is 
beautifully situated in the Rockies, and has 
water as pure as dew, and a climate which 
with its pine and ozone is nature's labora- 
tory for health. It is a great resort for 
those who wish a delightful summer out- 
ing where fish and big game abound. With 
his grand hotel, "The Irma," and his string 
of Mountain trail houses, "Pahaska" and 
other camping places, his automobile stage 
line, his herds of saddle and hunting horses, 
his expert mountain guides, Buffalo Bill 
has pierced the Rockies with the Cody Trail 
and extends a royal welcome to pleasure 
seekers. Here again, the boy scout proves 
himself a pioneer, for he has placed a road 
through the mountains, and automobiles 
are humming merily where many people 
said only a bird could fly. This time the 
railroad came to Cody's town. 

The Burlington Route with its splendid 
trains lands the pleasure seeker right at 
the gate way of this western paradise, Cody 
City. 



218 



AN AMERICAN NOBLEMAN. 

Buffalo Bill Feels That He Wears the Proud- 
est Title Man Can Bestow. — He declines with 
Thanks Complimentary Orders of Knighthood 
and Other Orders Tendered Him by Royalty, 
and in His Return of Thanks For Same Says 
He Has All the Honor He Can Stagger Under. 

When Col. Cody was abroad with his 
great Wild West show, he was several 
times tendered orders of various kinds at 
the hands of rulers of the various kingdoms, 
in the shape of "knight" of this or that, 
but always declined. 

In one instance when he passed up Avitli 
thanks the sword and spurs, the meaning 
medal and the badge of ribbon, the insigna 
of royal favor, he said: 

''You cannot tell how much this means 
to me, or how deeply I feel your royal ap- 
preciation of my efforts to amuse and in- 
struct you and your people in the history o ' 
our own glorious west, and believe me when 



219 



I say that the proffer carries with it to my 
heart your good will and friendship, a tes- 
timonial in itself of which I shall ever be 
proud, and I hope I will not be misunder- 
stood when I decline the official badge. In 
the first place, I am an American, pure and 
simple, which I consider all the honor due 
to a true American. My allegiance is to 
my own country and her flag, and to ac- 
cept the official or royal insigna of your 
noble orders would make me not a strong 
subject implied or otherAvise of your great 
country, but it would, by the fact of my 
accepting it make me less an American, or 
I should be a man with a divided allegianci 
Your country and mine are friends. Tlv 
bonds of commerce unite them. On the 
high seas we salute each other's flag. Your 
nobility is staunch and true to their sover- 
eign, so I, as an American beg to remain 
true to my sovereign flag, and at the same 
time remain your friend, as our glorious 
banner is your friend. 

"So, your highness, permit me with 
thanks to decline your kind offer." 

Do you think that royalty went off in a 
huff and felt chagrined? 

Not on your life. They admired the 



220 



American, and to this day there has never 
been accorded to a private citizen, Amer- 
ican or native, the courtesies shoAvered up- 
on Buffalo Bill, and he is probablj^ the only 
American who ever dined enfamlie with 
royalty. 

That is the true blood of an "American 
Scout." In this country every man is a 
king, and the stars and stripes is his most 
noble emblem of orders. 

Now, you "Boy Scouts," in j^our every 
day life, keep ever before you the fact 
that you are an American — a king — and so 
live that your actions shall reflect credit 
upon our beautiful banner, and see to it 
that no act of yours shall contribute to its 
disgrace. 

Be Americans. 



221 



WE LAY DOWN THE PEN. 

In This Little Book Our Message is Finished. — 
We Are No Longer Boy Scouts. — We Have 
Crossed the Rise, and Now the Beacon Lights 
on the Great Divide Beckon To Us. — If, How- 
ever, We are Spared a Few More Moons, If 
the Great Chief Deems It Well To Prolong 
Our Life, We May Have More of the History 
of the West, For You. 

Boys, I reluctantly lay down the pen on 
this brief history, this hashed history. I 
feel that if all our Boy Scouts read it thor- 
oughly and between the lines they will be 
the better for its perusal. I have stuck 
close to facts, and though figures and 
dates may be in a measure jumbled up, I 
have printed the facts in the life of the 
original Boy Scout commencing at the age 
of 9, up to and including the years of his 
manhood, I have told without the gloss 
of varnish the boyhood life of one of the 
greatest pioneers in our country's history. 



222 



I have covered nothing and nothing- lias 
been uncovered which the Last of the 
Great Scouts will not say "It is all right." 

"We were boys, just boys, the same as 
you are. Our tastes were the same. Our 
games were in keeping with the red blood 
of youth, but our environments were dif- 
ferent. Where you are surrounded with 
walls of brick and stone, the boundless 
prairies were our play grounds. Where 
you are barred by the sections of streets 
and wards, our only menace were the red 
men of the plains. 

And yet, looking back, those red men 
were susceptible to kindness, and we had 
warm friends among, the various tribes. 
True, it is, that our government took by 
force their homes, their hunting grounds, 
and just as true they felt agrieved, the 
same as you and I would feel should some 
strong party seek to deprive us of our 
homes. We would fight — so did they. 

I am not about to write a labored es- 
say upon the wrongs of the Indian, but 
simply seeking for a proper close of this 
sketch. 

Buffalo Bill, mj^ friend, I have known 
and loved for half a hundred years. He 



223 



SEP 11 1912 



has proven true. He has been the enter- 
ing wedge for the civilization of America's 
Great West. He has made his mark, and 
I shall, as I raise my hat in greeting, say 
Hail and Farewell, America's, Greatest 
American, 



224 



